


Nighttime Coming

by Mars00135



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Anthropology, Anthropology Professor Hanji, Archaeology Professor Moblit, Astral Projection, Bromance, But He Gets Better, Carla's Alive!!!, Clairvoyant Ymir, Cursed Levi, Dark Fantasy, Dark Humor, Disturbing Themes, Dreaming, Dreams are Dangerous, Elementals, Erwin Isn't A Dick But He's Still A Brat, F/F, F/M, Faerie World, Fantasy, Fantasy Related Horror/Gore, Fluff, Folklore, Glasses Jean, Grisha's Chill, Harry Potter jokes, History Major Armin, Hot Armin, Human Armin, Human Eren, Human Mikasa, Immortal Levi, Irish Levi, M/M, Magic, Magic Puns, Marco's A Cocky Jerk At First, Men Are Referred To As Witches In This Too!, Mentions Of The Salem Witch Trial, Mythology - Freeform, Out of Body Experiences, Plot Based, Romani People, Seelie, Seer Jean, Sensor Eren, Sensor Marco, Shape Shifters, Telepathy, Touch-Sense Eren, Touch-Sense Mikasa, Unseelie, Vampyres, Warlocks, Witch Krista, Witch Levi, Witch Ymir, Witches, Wizards, eventual smut later on, ghost - Freeform, glasses eren, gypsies, human Jean, much wow, native american folklore, so much sass, such snark, the bromance is strong with this one, this is going to be fun, witch marco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-05 05:53:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 90,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12184179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mars00135/pseuds/Mars00135
Summary: It's not just goblins and ghouls that go bump in the night....**This is my atmospheric love letter to all things eerie and fantastic that come with every full moon.*****This is an ode to the dark woods of my home state of North Carolina.***





	1. Night And Day

"Not real, not real," Jean repeated in strained whispers under his breath as he stared into the eyes of a monster. "Not real. You're not real."

"But I am real," it said; its mouth unmoving as it watched him from the foot of his bed.

The creature was unearthly in its beauty. So much so that it made him sick to his stomach. A perfect heart-shaped face carved out of the the most flawless alabaster skin that seemed to fade into a dull murky gray in the shadows with full bowed lips and a petite button nose. Flowing soft black hair framed this face that sent chills up his spine; the tendrils dropping just below the creatures slim waist before seemingly dematerializing at the ends. Neither male or female, it was clad in a white linen blouse and white linen pants that where sheer enough to see the outline of its lithe form.

Beautiful in almost every way; and purposefully so. Yet looking into its swirling black eyes that so closely resembled pits of sloshing burning tar, Jean knew--if not for the unease sparked in his stomach--that behind that lovely face was a monster. Watching him from the boundary of his bed, the creature tilted its head; its gaze never once leaving him.

"This isn't happening. I'm just dreaming," the young man choked as the moon climbed higher in the evening sky.

Glancing to the side for only a moment as the moonlight flooded the bedroom, Jean saw the creatures shadow stretch over the walls and vaulted ceiling. Instead of a slim delicate silhouette, he saw a gaunt disproportionate figure with long arms that bore claws and the decaying structures of a pair of wings sprouting from its back. The soft cascading hair was instead thin and stringy; likened to that of a corpse pulled from a lake after weeks of wandering.

As an owl in the forest outside screech, the floorboards creaked as the monster moved faster than the eye could see. Now climbing up the bed until it loomed directly over him, it chanted "mine, mine, mine" in a guttural strangled voice; its lips still unmoving but its eyes now aflame with frightening power. Jean struggled against the monster; could feel its weight pressing down against him as he fought back. Screaming in agony as its hands touched his skin--his flesh burning as if it had just been doused in acid--he cried for help. But who could come to his aide? This was all a dream and he knew it. It wasn't real even if it felt real.

Looking into the eyes of the monster as its nose brushed the tip of his as it lips parted to reveal perfect white teeth slathered in a veneer of black slime, Jean took a deep breath before looking away. Eyes closed, he repeated "not real, not real, you're not here" as the monsters grip on his wrists tightened and its snarling intensified. Heaving in air as the growl resonated in his ear and the thick hot breath wafted against his jaw and neck, the young man pleaded with his unconscious body to release him from this nightmare.

"Wake up," he spat as the snarl became a sharp airy shriek that could have broken glass. "WAKE UP!"

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Eyes flickering open with a desperate gasp for air, Jean lurched forward in his bed with his hands gripping the blankets so tightly, he could have torn holes through them. Body shaking and drenched in a cold sweat, he sat there with his head in his hands and elbows propped on his knees as he worked to calm his racing heart. It had been years since he last had that dream; fifteen to be exact. Starting when he was five, the nightmares haunted him almost every other night for the better half of a decade until his parents relocated the family to California when he was ten. 

Jean had almost forgotten about them; doubted if he had ever had such a horrendous dream since they had not once surfaced in his unconscious mind while living in Los Angeles. Yet the terrors returned almost as quickly as they had disappeared when he moved back to North Carolina for grad school. However, unlike before, the creature in them was no longer just an idle figure looming in the shadowed corner of his bedroom. Over the course of three months, it had moved from the corner to his work desk to the TV stand to the foot of his bed and now, after tonight, to loom directly over him with its oppressive weight crushing his body.

Glancing to the digital alarm clock on the nightstand, the blonde released a raspy sigh as he fell back onto the bed. It was only 2:30 a.m. but he didn't want to go back to sleep; not after that. He didn't care if he had class in five hours and a full night of work after that. The hand-shaped rash on his wrists where the monster had grabbed him was motivation enough to stay awake. Running his slightly trembling fingers through the longer strands of his hair, Jean swallowed hard then sighed with his hazy amber eyes squeezed shut. 'Why did I even come back here?' he thought to himself before his eyes snapped open at the faint growl by his ear.

Instantly scrambling away from the right side of the bed, Jean pressed himself against the wall bordering the left half of the bed. Eyes darting from one place to another as his heart raced and lungs wheezed, he searched the vast empty space for the monster but there wasn't a soul in sight. Nothing moved or could be seen lurking in the shadows. No voice could be heard over the gentle pattering of rain on the roof outside or the hooting of the owl in the forest. But still, it felt so real; as if the beast had escaped his dreams just long enough to remind him that he was at its mercy.

Warily reaching across the bed, the young man turned on the Tiffany reading lamp adorned with red dragonflies and orbs of sapphire blue. Scanning the room he then collapsed back into the mountain of pillows that had been edged up against the wall and the window sill as he scampered away from the mattresses edge. With a steadying inhale, he breathed out long and hard.

"Fuck..."

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Sipping on his coffee as he read the news that had been dropped off on the stoop of his front porch that morning, Marco caught up on the current events before getting ready for work. Two hurricanes were battering the southern coastal states, the supercilious president was riling foreign leaders, another bombing in London, another earthquake in South America, another double homicide-suicide in the county over... Just another day in the life of modern America. Just another day of toiling around hoping for the shit being kicked around to straighten itself out even when everyone knew it was only getting worse. But what did he care? It wasn't like this were the world he belonged to.

Polishing off a second cup of the black brew and snuffing his third cigarette of the morning out in an ashtray on the kitchen counter, Marco frowned as he passed the wilting flowers on his window sill. Touching each for a brief moment at a time, the corners of his lips curved ever so slightly as the color returned to their leaves and the flowers regained their brilliance. 'Now stay like that,' he thought with an arched brow as he eyed the plants before turning his back and leaving.

Walking through the pristine and neatly kept home, the brunette waved his hand at the lamps as he passed; the illumination spawning seconds after he passed. With a yawn, he wandered into the bedroom to grab the towel he had used the day before. Noting that it was already 1:45 a.m. he hurried into the bathroom to take his shower. The hot water worked miracles on him as it undid the knots of his tense shoulders and relaxed the strained muscles of his back. After cleaning off, he shaved the stubborn five o'clock shadow along his jaw and chin then brushed his teeth; wincing at the hateful burn of the special mouthwash he had to use to counter act the harmful effects of having a sweet-tooth like his.

The bedroom lights steadily came on as he entered the bedroom and the door to his walk-in closet opened on its own as he dried off. With a towel around his freckled abdomen and damp hair slicked back, he scanned the options; considering what he felt like wearing that day. There wasn't really any formal dress code at work. Agents in his field just had to make sure they were wearing something they could easily move around in and shoes that wouldn't inhibit their performance. Well, maybe there was a slight dress code but it was more like guidelines than it was a strict set of rules.

Settling on something when the clock dinged at the 2:00 a.m. marker, Marco slipped into a pair black joggers, a plain cream henley, his favorite black leather jacket with the straight collar, and his old tried and true black all star low-tops. Shaking his hair for a half minute before it dried completely with a little bit of extra help on his part, he tugged on a melange gray beanie to combat the chill of the early autumn air that was already biting at his skin and threatening to penetrate the warmth of his home and lay waste to it. Shoving his phone into his jacket pocket while slinging his deep brown canvas messenger bag over one shoulder, Marco left the bedroom; the lights turning off as he exited.

Grabbing the keys from the dish near the front door, he paused and glanced up at the mantle above the entryway when a soft black tail flickered across his field of vision. Smirking when he saw Barron sitting back on his haunches as he cleaned his immaculate black fur, the brunette clicked his tongue once then motioned to his shoulder when the cat looked at him with its massive crystal green eyes. Rising up on all fours, the feline stretched its back out--tail curling in a perfect bow as it did--then leapt down gracefully from the mantle; landing on his shoulder with a gentle thump.

Scratching the creatures chin, Marco smiled happily. "I was wondering where you were. Ready for work?"

Chuckling when the cat nudged its head into curve of his jaw, the brunette left the house; the door locking itself as he calmly walked to the car in the pouring raining. Dry as a bone as he entered the copper orange CR-V, Marco waited until Barron was situated in his seat before starting the car. It was right as he put the key in the ignition that the mans heart stuttered and his lungs seized as a powerful chill raced up his spine, spread over his arms and legs to reach his fingers and toes before settling like a weight hanging around his throat. Wheezing for a second as the sensation caught him off-guard, Marco braced himself against the steering wheel.

Eyes cast down on the stylized "H" at center of the wheel, a wave of panic, fear, and misery washed over him in repeated succession. Something malicious was at work nearby and he was catching the tail-end of its residual power. Choking on the potency of the momentary blow, Marco felt a fraction better when his familiar came and sat down in his lap; purring as it rubbed the underside of his chin with its head. Still working on regulating his breathing, the brunette looked up at the manual clock on the dashboard.

"What the fuck is stirring up trouble at two-thirty in the morning?" Marco hissed as the pain in his chest spiked before finally subsiding. "It's not even the three o'clock yet. Eager little fuck can't even wait for the witching hour." Looking at Barron who was staring at him from his lap, the man sighed. "Stop worrying. I'm fine. Anyways, lets go. Erwin will skin me if I'm late again."

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Standing beneath the awning of the Starbucks across street from the DMV sipping a venti Americano, Levi waited patiently for his partner to show up. At his feet sat Medea, his familiar. With fur the deepest shade of black and eyes a bright pumpkin orange, the cat kept its eyes on the street wearing the same level of indifference as its master. Short hairs standing on end as the burnt orange CR-V came into view, Levi chuckled as the feline retreated behind his legs where it let go of a small growl that bubbled up from its stomach. No matter how long they had been working together, she still didn't like Marco and Barron. But then again, she was like this with every partner he had had since the turn of the century so it probably wasn't him she hated so much as it was people in general.

Watching the tall brunette jog across the street to where he was lingering against the wall almost leisurely, Levi couldn't help the small smile when Barron hissed back at Medea who was still fussing down by his ankles. Those two would never get along. Even if the world were ending they'd still find a way to hate each other. Maybe it was because they belonged to different factions of the supernatural but either way, they were acting like a pair of spoiled children.

"You're late," Levi said matter-of-factly; his voice not betraying his face. Handing Marco his red-eye before he could run in and grab one, the man arched a brow. "That's three days in a row now. Do you have a death wish or something?"

"Sorry man," Marco said before thanking his partner for the coffee. "A residual pulse caught me off guard as I was starting up the car and I had to take a moment to catch my breath."

"Seriously? If it was that intense the center of activity must have been close by."

"Or the denizen was really strong. And it was thirty minutes before three."

"That's weird."

"Yeah," the brunette said; pressing his lips to the lid of the cup--the tip of his tongue testing the heat before sipping. "I wrote down the exact time and my location as well as the intensity. I'll tell Mike when we clock in."

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea considering it was enough to immobilize you. Anyway, we got to get going or else Erwin really will kill us."

"Right. Wouldn't want to start another witch hunt." Smirking when Levi gave him the 'you can't be serious' look, Marco just drank his coffee as his partner stepped away from the awning followed by his familiar that was glaring daggers at him. "Good morning to you too, Medea."

Walking across the street together--their combine auras keeping them dry in the rain--neither paid any attention to the middle-aged woman heading in the opposite direction nor turned as she was hit by a large black pick up truck. She'd only disappear and reappear forty minutes later to repeat the process all over again. That was the issue with spectrals that were struck in a loop, they didn't have any of their faculties left like intelligent hauntings did to know that they were dead and that what was done was done.

Glancing over his shoulder as the womans mangled body slowly evaporated from sight, Marco sipped his coffee with mild indifference. 'Poor thing doesn't even know she's dead,' he thought to himself. Removing the navy blue lanyard attached to his government ID, the brunette slipped it on as they stepped inside the large four story building housing the DMV and federal insurance office. Nodding to Roz, the older woman that worked the front desk of the DMV, he chuckled when he noticed that a patch of her glamour was slipping near her neck. Tapping his jaw in warning as they eyes met, the womans frown remained but the smooth patch of pea green skin vanished as she cleared her throat.

"You're late," Roz rasped; her voice something akin to a chain-smoker that was hell bent on turning herself into a chimney. Watching them over the rim of her red horned glasses, she curled her up lip in disapproval. "Erwin's been looking for you two. Something about an issue in ward thirty-three."

"Thirty-three," Levi questioned; his nose wrinkling and brows knitting together as he thought. "Isn't that one yours, Marco?"

"It most certainly is," the brunette said. Shifting uncomfortably in place as a human mother told her daughter to stop staring at the two men--she doing so herself before looking away--Marco smiled as best as he could manage before pivoting to the side to press the button for the lift. "Thanks for the heads up Roz."

Stepping into the elevator, Marco sighed as the door closed on Roz laughing that haggard cackle of of hers as the men retreated into the cart. When the doors had shut, Levi pressed the stall button three times. Seconds later a retina scanner popped out from behind the model approval plaque mounted on the wall. Below it was an ID reader which the dark-haired man inserted his badge into as he lined his left eye up with the scanner. When both buzzed green with a positive conformation, a voice sounded over the speaker.

"Good morning Agent Ackerman," the system said in greeting. "Please have your guest scan their FBSP badge and left retina."

The command repeated again before Marco inserted his badge and bent down a bit to allow the scanner to read his eye. After another minute, the system processed his information then dinged bright green.

"Welcome Agents Ackerman and Bott. Please select your floor."

Waiting as the button pad flipped over, Levi didn't even have to look at which one he was pushing. It had become muscle memory after seventy years of hitting the same circle. His hand just instinctively knew to press SF20. Sipping his coffee casually, he glanced up to Marco and smirked as the elevator shuddered gently then dropped. Falling moderately fast compared to how quickly it moved when the lift went up, the older man shoved a hand into his pocket after looping his work badge around his neck. Finishing his drink by the time the elevator got to level SF15, he sighed as it passed the remaining five floors and stopped at theirs.

Doors sliding open, they were greeted by the hectic world that was their work. The Federal Bureau of Supernatural and Paranormal Persons was a sub-branch of the CIA but with less restrictions and more smoke and mirrors covering up its existence than the politicians on Capitol Hill had masking their cheating ways. Tasked with documenting and monitoring the community of paranatural beings living in the US, they were basically the lawmakers and peacekeepers making sure that the humans remained blissfully ignorant of the "alternative populous." 

Nodding a greeting to Joyce, the shape shifter receptionist that decided on looking like Grace Kelly today, Marco picked up his mail from mail separator on her desk before walking by as did Levi. Sitting in the receiving room that mirrored the one above ground at the DMV, dozens of paranatural denizens sat in chairs filling out residency forms, permits for licenses or sellers papers, and applications for federal financial aid. There were a few familiar faces and a few new ones that were diligently filling out their registration forms. Whenever a denizen moved from one location to the next, they had to file the appropriate paperwork so that the FBSP could keep tabs on them; especially if they were an M, G, or S class denizen.

It was a tedious process and involved a great deal of bureaucracy but at least it was centralized to their agency instead of having to make the rounds through congress, the supreme court, and all that nonsense. If that had been the case, it'd take years to get anything done. With their system, they could approve or relocate a denizen in a matter of days. No hassle, no worries. However, that wasn't the primary focus of Marco and Levi's job. They were more specialized due to their own inclinations. 

Catching the men as they came around the corner, Petra--Levi's assistant and a field agent in training--bit her lip before quickening her pace. Putting one hand on each of their chests, she stopped them in their tracks wearing the most foreboding expression neither of them had seen all week.

"About time you two showed up," the redhead said with a snap to her tone.

"Why does everyone keep acting like it's the end of the world that we're a little late this morning?" Levi asked Marco with furrowed brows before looking back to Petra. "What's going on?"

"There was a massive disturbance in the sensory field around 2:30. It was enough that it altered the fixed tracks of some spectrals within the vicinity and influenced the unconscious states of over seventy humans."

"What?" Marco demanded in a hushed tone. Eyes wide as they stepped into his office, he was about to ask her to clarify the news when he saw Erwin leaning against his desk with both arms folded. "Sir," the brunette said as he swallowed hard on the nerves bundling up in his throat.

From the look in Erwin's piercing blue eyes, both men knew they were in trouble. "Good, now that both of you are here I can finally start straightening out this mess."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Jean was half dead by the time classes had ended. It had been a long day that had no end in sight since he had to go straight from his anthropology lab to work. At least Eren and Armin would be working at the shop with him tonight. Shivering as he walked through the warmly lit streets of Durham near the fringes of Wake Forest, the blonde pulled his green cargo jacket even tighter as a cool autumn wind rushed through the cityscape and rustled the changing leaves on the trees lining the sidewalk. It was only the second week of October but it was already off to a cold start.

Teeth close to chattering and head throbbing, the exhausted college student dragged his up the steps of the ornate and homely built Darwin Coffee House. Doubling as a community bookstore where people could leave their old or unwanted books on the shelves and take one that piqued their interest, the shop was the brainchild of Professors Hanji Zoe and Moblit Berner; both anthropology instructors at Duke University where Jean happened to be enrolled in four of their classes. It was by chance that he got a job at the coffee house his professors owned but he wasn't about to complain.

Slipping in through the front door, he grunted a hello to Connie who was taking orders and again to Annie who was working both the espresso bar and the cold bar. It looked like a quiet night but things always seemed to pick up around 10:00 p.m. when everyone was getting back from working their day jobs. That or they were college students studying for midterms or university professors looking for a place to catch up on their grading.

"You look like shit," Eren said matter-of-factly when Jean stepped into the back to hang up his backpack and coat. The brunette was busy doing the inventory log for the evening so that it'd be one less thing to worry about during closing procedure. "Take it you didn't sleep at all again last night."

Shaking his head, Jean sighed with a grunt as he slipped into work shirt; using the backroom as a pseudo changing room. "Nope, not a wink."

"I thought I heard you knocking around down the hall but I couldn't be sure. Armin said you looked terrible when you came down for coffee."

"That's because I felt terrible." Tying the laces of his black canvas apron, the blonde sat down for a moment before heading out to start his shift. "I don't know why but I keep having that weird nightmare, over and over."

"You mean the one from when we were kids?"

Jean nodded. "Yeah, that one. I'm not sure if it's because I've come home after being away for so long and it's stirring up old memories or maybe it's something else. Either way, it's costing me sleep. I haven't gotten a full six hours in over a month."

"Damn, I'm sorry," Eren spoke; his emerald green eyes reflecting the empathy that he felt for his friend. "Look, if you aren't feeling it tonight I can cover your shift and do the close with Armin. We can just prep for inventory another night when you're back to--"

"No, it's fine. I'll be fine," he insisted. "I just need something to wake me up."

"'Kay," the brunette said though he was still unconvinced. 

Jean may be able to lie to everyone else but he could never fool his closest friends that knew better. Even if he were able to pull the wool over everyone's eyes and convince the world of some great tall tale, nothing could get past Eren, Armin, and Mikasa. They were the only ones who knew him well enough to catch his tells which was why they knew better than to believe the lies he told himself. Watching Jean as he slumped over the table in the employee break room with his head in his hands, Eren made a mental note to keep his eye on the guy. He'd fill Armin in when he came back from his lunch but for now, he remained silent yet ever vigilant in the off chances that Jean passed out from exhaustion.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been a longer day at the office than Marco had anticipated. Not only did he now have worry about a denizen messing with the astral planes but he had to send out a burn notice to their sister branch in Falls Church for a rogue vampyre that had been on a rampage, feeding on the life energy of dozens of blonde teenage girls. 'A regular Jack the Ripper,' the brunette thought silently as he reviewed the photos of the carnage left behind by the suspect. 

Emery Jacobson, the vampyre in question, had taken it upon himself to dismember the bodies to hide his marks by the shoulders and the back of the neck. However, it wasn't enough to throw the FBSP off his scent. In fact, the nature of the murders was enough to alert them almost immediately. The only downside was that the man was a couple hundred years old and his ability to blend in with crowds and virtually disappear reflected his life experience.

Releasing a puff of smoke from his pillowy lips, Marco stared down at the pictures of the multiple crime scenes; ten to be exact between the women killed in South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia. They were each around the same age, height, weight, and shared numerous physical similarities. All the young women had blonde shoulder length hair or longer, blue eyes, and fair skin. And all of them disappeared on their way home from school only to show up a few miles away in a back alley or on a secluded hiking trail in a park.

Putting his cigarette out in the pupil of the last known photo of Emery Jacobson, Marco frowned with a small sneer curling his upper lip. This was the part of his job that he hated; the side that made him question what his real purpose within the FBSP was. As a sensor, it was his place to locate, track, and monitor at-risk denizens as well as those that had a history of violence. He had even been relocated to live in a neighborhood filled with them so that he could help them adapt to living in a human environment. That was the nice part of his job.

However, when denizens went rogue and started hurting humans and making themselves known, Marco and Levi were called in for containment and, if need be, extermination purposes. They were the only two witches in the US capable of producing a fire magic so hot that it could disintegrate a body--living or not--on contact. Naturally, Levi was much stronger than he was because the man had been cursed several lifetimes ago and had an eternity to work on his skills. But Marco was almost as good at the deadly little trick as his partner; it was something he wasn't proud of since it turned him into a tool bred for destruction. But what other choice did he have when fiends like Jacobson went around murdering innocents? He may not like the role of a cleaner but someone had to do it.

Setting the closed file down on the backseat, Marco told Barron he'd be right back. The car had been parked in the lot of the Darwin Coffee House for the past half hour but he'd be damned if he was going to go home and pour over this case without a drink from his favorite shop. The small golden bell attached to the door chimed as he entered the cozy space that had been decorated to feel more like a home than a coffee shop. Taking a long comforting breath in before exhaling, the man let all his troubles roll right off his shoulders. It smelled like leather, pipe tobacco, hickory wood burning in the fireplace, and maple--such a warm and welcoming feeling that made him think he was back at home curled up in front of his fireplace lazing about reading Walt Whitman with Barron purring next to him.

In the background, Billie Holiday's "Night and Day" played with her familiar vocals taking him back to a simpler time. God he missed the good old days back when there was less confusion and more people were straightforward with what they wanted and what their intentions were. Becoming lost in her voice, he could almost remember the songbird's face and that beautiful moonlit night he had first laid eyes on her. Those haunting brown eyes filled with so much soul, that smile that teased the men in the old jazz club she had been booked at in Harlem, and a song that sprang from her like water from a well. How could Marco ever forget such a night?

With fondness and familiarity humming in his veins, the brunette approached the bakery case where he leaned gently against the glass while trying to decide what he wanted that night. Silently mouthing along to the words, his glittering honey brown eyes scanned the menu while a soft smile played across his lips. Off to the side, near the door that the barista's used to step into the backroom behind the espresso bar, Marco heard what he swore to be a hushed argument between two of the workers. 

One was--from what he could see--a tall brunette with shaggy short hair and bright green eyes. The guy kept looking between the person that was out of view whom he was talking to and the cash registers; or maybe he was looking at Marco. He couldn't tell because the young mans behavior was somewhat erratic. Yet one thing was clear: the guy was taking great joy in teasing whoever was on the other side of that door with him.

\------------------------------------------------------------

There was no way Jean was about to go out and help the customer currently standing at the bakery case. No way in hell. Not after he had been caught by Eren last night practically drooling over himself when the same tall freckled brunette came in asking for a cafe au lait. And especially not now with Eren poking and prodding him; telling Jean to slip the guy his number on the side of his cup or on the receipt. As much as the blonde loved his friend--which he did--sometimes the guy could be as dense as a sack of bricks.

Jean couldn't just up and give a guy his number. That wasn't the type of person he was. Despite his loud appearance, tattoos and piercings included, he had always been painfully shy and never liked being at the center of anyone's attention. It was why he was going to school for anthropology instead of something more flashy like Eren who was pursuing public relations and communications. Jean was perfectly content going undetected in both his public and private lives. So being subjected to his friends' incessant haranguing about finding "someone special to hold on to" was starting to dance on his very last nerve.

"Come on Eren, give the guy a break," Armin said from the managers desk as he inputted the schedule for the following week. "If Jean wants to talk to the guy, he'll talk to him."

"I know but I'm just giving him a gentle push."

"How about I give you a gentle push the next time that guy with the black hair comes in," Jean sneered with a hint of a threat in his tone. "Since you seem hell bent on getting me laid, I'd be a shitty friend if I didn't help you out."

"That's different Jean."

"No it isn't Eren," the agitated blonde shot back. Glancing out the small port window in the swing door, his heart raced when he caught a quick look at the freckled brunette staring curiously at the door. "Shit, he saw me," Jean hissed as he pressed back against the wall. "You go out there and take his order."

"Excuse me but I'm a supervisor and you're a shift lead. I don't have to do jack."

"God damn it Eren!"

"Oh look," the brunette smirked as he looked down at his wrist watch. "It's time for my break. Looks like you're the only one left."

"Go play in traffic," Jean muttered as he readied himself to go back out there.

As his friend left the backroom, Eren wished him luck. When the door had closed completely, Armin spoke up from the desk.

"Eren?"

"Yeah?" the brunette said with a cat-like grin as he watched the scene unfold.

"You're an ass."

\------------------------------------------------------

Exiting the backroom, Jean did his best not to stare too long at the man as they both approached the register. Every night for the past three months, the brunette would come in around 10:45 and order a classic croissant and something to drink. Each time his drink would change, almost as if he were sampling the entire menu before settling on one he liked most. And like every other night, Jean was completely caught up in how effortlessly gorgeous he was. Tan skin covered in a galaxy of freckles, thick wavy brown hair done in an undercut, eyes that had a story to tell, and a smile that could kill, the man was a walking masterpiece; a work of art with a pulse.

Calming his racing heart whilst simultaneously ignoring Eren's eyes that were burning a hole in his back, the blonde did his best to smile without looking too happy to see the brunette Adonis. Dressed in his usual manner--jogger pants, a basic henley, and that leather jacket that looked like it was made for him--the man didn't need a suit like most other men did in order to look suave. He was charming as is and that dreamy smile he wore whenever he heard a familiar song playing over the speakers did nothing to help Jean's heart. 'God damn that smile,' he cursed quietly as he forced a smile.

"Sorry for the wait," the blonde said as he stepped up to the register. "What can I get for you tonight?"

"I'll take a classic croissant," the brunette began.

Smirking at the predictable portion of the order, Jean grabbed a to-go bag for the pastry and wrote the mans name from memory. "Anything to drink?"

"Hmm, well since it's pretty much fall, you guys got anything new I could try?"

Biting the corner of his bottom lip, Jean glanced to the menu as he pondered the options. The guy had tried almost everything they had; even the early fall spiced chai latte and the apple crisp tea which he didn't take too well. As he stood there thinking for a hot second, he could feel the brunette's eyes on him and see the ghost of a smile curling the edges of his lips. Was he...was he messing with Jean? If he were, it'd be more obvious. Jean may have been as awkward as they come when it came to talking about himself. However, he was far more intuitive and observant than others gave him credit for. It was why he could wipe the floor with Eren whenever they played poker; the guy was an open book.

But this guy was different. There was something in the way he looked at Jean that made his heart riot in his chest and set his skin aflame. It wasn't just that he was handsome although that didn't help in the least. Something about what was lurking behind those long dark lashes in the depths of those enchanting eyes pulled him in like a magnet sailing toward the poles. It was so strong that it was almost terrifying. What kind of magic was he casting over him to have the blonde this anxious?

"There's the Flapjack latte," Jean finally said with a chuckle; it was such a stupid name for a drink.

"Flapjack latte?" the brunette repeated in a near humored tone with an arched brow. "Like a pancake?"

"Yeah, I know it sounds dumb but it's pretty good to be honest. It tastes just like a pancake with maple syrup and has a buttery finish."

Thinking about it for a moment, the man looked back at the menu then trailed his eyes to Jean. "Sure, I'll try it. It'll probably be better than that apple tea garbage I had last week."

"Hey, I like that garbage," Jean chuckled as he went to reach for a to-go cup. "A large right?"

"Naturally," he said as he watched the young man write his name on the cup; smirking when he remembered that he hadn't given it.

Paying for his drink and croissant, the brunette came around to the other side of the bar to watch as his latte was made. Eyes following the blonde's movements, he was almost mesmerized by how gracefully he conducted himself. Everything from flushing the steam wand to tamping the espresso in its basket looked like it were second nature to the barista. Gaze wandering from those long pale fingers up to his forearms that were covered in an array of intricate tattoos to the flawless column of his throat that blended seamlessly into his sharp jaw, the brunette didn't even attempt to look away when Jean caught him appraising him.

Clearing his throat, Jean handed the completed drink to the brunette. "Hope you like it."

Deciding to have a little bit of fun, the man smirked then looked at the side of his cup. "You remembered."

"What?"

"My name," he said while turning the drink to show Jean the 'Marco' he had scrawled neatly onto the cup. "You never asked for it. At least tonight you didn't."

Choking internally, Jean licked his lips as he tried to come up with a bullshit answer. "You come in here often enough that I just remembered."

"Ah," Marco faked understanding. He knew exactly why the young man had remembered his name. "That makes sense."

"Anyways, I hope you have a good night."

"You too, Jean," Marco smiled slyly as he took a sip from the latte. "Good night."

And with that the brunette had exited the shop and Jean was left standing at the espresso bar with his eyes wide and mouth agape.

"How did he know my name?"


	2. The Wayfarin' Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco can't escape his past, Jean has a chance encounter in the woods one sleepless night, and reinforcements are called in to help with a rogue denizen...
> 
>  
> 
> GREETINGS MORTALS!: Welcome everyone to the second installment of Nighttime Coming. As always, I am very excited to be sharing this with you, my lovely readers. You make my freaky world go 'round. I'd like to take this moment to give a special shout out to Chicalatina449 and my dear old friend, my Rock of Gibraltar, and fellow NC babe, SimplyTsundere. You two rock my socks!
> 
> Secondly, I'd like to remind all of you once more that this fanfic is going to be jumping back and forth between the present day and the 19th century so there WILL BE period accurate dialogue and language. This is also going to contain darker themes than any of my other stories so keep that in mind.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS ARE IN EFFECT FOR THE ENTIRE FIC!!! These include graphic depictions of gore, death, offensive language, suicide attempts, homophobia (accurate to the 19th century), and disturbing imagery relating to the supernatural/paranormal.
> 
> So with that out of the way, sit back and enjoy my twisted fantasy.
> 
> -Mars

It was cold--freezing actually to the point that the ground had gone solid. Virginia was notorious for her bitter hateful winters and this one wasn't any different. Frost clung to the wooden siding of houses lining the empty streets of Fredericksburg and snow fell from the dark still midnight sky painted by the ruddy glow of fires from within the numerous military encampments. Passing by his fellow soldiers, Marco couldn't stop the ominous twisting in his gut telling him that something wasn't right.

For the past two months, the Union divisions had been hunkered down in the tired port town in anticipation of the Confederate army. Despite being a captain and commanding officer of the Grey's special infantry squadron, he knew that the higher up's were keeping him blissfully ignorant of something. Of what, he did not know which bothered him even more. Nodding to the lieutenants posted outside the officers tent, the brunette stepped inside; immediately feeling his aching bones relax as the warmth washed over the exposed skin of his face, neck, and hands.

"Ah, finally," Major General Burnside said with a slight smile curling the corners of his lips. "Good of you to join us Captain Bott."

Nodding to the other generals present, Marco clutched his hands behind his back. "Sir."

"I've summoned you here tonight to discuss the final battle plan for tomorrows offense."

"Tomorrows offense? Sorry sir but I don't understand."

Shaking his head with a single hand up as if to wave off the young man's confusion, Burnside clarified. "Tomorrow morning we will cross the Rappahannock river and launch a full assault on the Confederate lines. I want your men to follow in the second wave and spearhead the right flank."

"What? With all due respect general, that's suicide."

"I hardly think so boy," chided General Sumner from his seat at the long table. Eyeing the captain, he snorted with indignation. "We have the Confederates out gunned and out manned three to one."

"But we don't have the tactical advantage!" Marco snapped, earning some raised eyebrows and wide eyes from the other men present. Approaching the table with the area map and representative tokens set at various points, he pressed his palms against the rough grain of the wooden surface as he scanned over their 'strategy.' "There's too many points of weakness. You're puttin' to much on the center unit and leaving the right and left divisions short-handed. Not only that, but the river has done nothin' but fight us whenever we try to plant down any boats. I was born and raised a Virginian and if you ask any one of us, we'd tell you that crossing the Rappahannock durin' winter is just about the worst decision you could make."

"This isn't my first battle Captain Bott and you would do well to keep that in mind the next time your tongue wins over your sense of reason."

"It isn't my reasonin' that's flawed," the captain warned as his gazed darkened with a flicker of violet streaking the depths of his stormy eyes. "If you open fire on the Confederates tomorrow and cross that river, you will lose. This is a fools task General Burnside. I implore you to reconsider."

Thoroughly enraged, the old man stepped closer so that he was only inches away from the brunette; puffing his chest with dissatisfaction while releasing a deep breath as he glared back into those defiant brown eyes. He wasn't going to allow the young man to have his way. Not a chance in hell. He had twice the experience and more knowledge of the battle field than the captain could ever hope to have.

"And I strongly recommend you watch your tongue captain. Tomorrow, you and your men will lead the second wave crossing the Rappahannock. If you defy me I will have you court-martialed for insubordination." Closing the space between them, Burnside then whispered, "You will do this, witch, or else I'll have your entire squad shot for treason. Understand?"

Gritting his teeth behind tightly pressed lips, Marco breathed out heavily as if smoke would sprout forth from his nostrils like some raging bull. "Understood."

"Good. Now leave. I expect your men to be ready by sunrise."

"Yes sir."

Glancing between the others, Marco noticed a wicked smirk faintly dancing across General Hooker's lips though it never fully manifested. Something wasn't right; he knew it wasn't from the creeping sensation up his spine. When they had first been given their marching orders months ago, Burnside had confided in him that he reluctantly accepted this command but had no intentions of launching a full-blown assault. He too understood how poor the conditions were and that the terrain was less than ideal; dismal in fact. Yet in the last week, something within him had changed. Burnside was no longer the man of reason Marco knew him to be. Now he was a madman hell bent on butchering his men; recklessly sending them off to the slaughter.

Yet there was nothing Marco could do; nothing he could say to change the mans mind. He was going to cross that turbulent hellish river tomorrow and paint the sandy banks red with their blood. It wasn't even a question, but a fact which the brunette could see so clearly. This would be a bloody battle and they were not going to win; even with the aid of his special operations squad. They weren't going to survive this. Not just him and his men, but thousands of others were going to lose their lives tomorrow and none would mourn them.

Stalking out of the tent, the captain fought with himself every step of the way back across the encampment to where his squad of fifteen where pitched up for the night. His blood boiled and his inner demons raged to destroy the man before he doomed them all. But he couldn't. Marco was bound to his oath to never bring harm to a mortal; even if his actions were justifiable. If he so much as hurt a hair on Burnside's head, it wasn't the United States government he was afraid of. The members of the board leading the FBSP were far more terrifying than any human could be and it was their wrath that kept him from acting on his emotions.

Breezing past Ymir who was tending to some of the injured and his lieutenants Bertholt and Reiner, the brunette stormed into his tent; pulling the flaps shut behind him. Stepping further inside--past the second entryway meant to keep the cold out and the warm in--Marco heaved in through his nose and out past gritted bared teeth. He couldn't calm down, no matter what he did the anger wouldn't cease. It just kept building and building; consuming him like the licking flames of a pyre.

Growling as he felt himself slipping into a feral state, he ordered Barron to stay back as the black cat approached him from across the tent. Collapsing to his knees, Marco let go of a blood-curdling cry as he lost control. Bursting to life around him was a raging fire so hot it burned between white, violet, and black tinting the edges. Mouth agape and head craned back, the captains eyes rolled back exposing the white as he wrestled internally for command of his body. There was only a small window of opportunity to regain control before he went berserk and demolished the entire higher command.

With a strained groan, he buckled over, arms wrapping tightly around his sides as if it were the only thing holding him together. 'Kill him,' a voice hissed inside his head. 'Kill him before he kills you; before he kills your men.' Whimpering as the heat scorching his skin intensified, Marco shook his head. 'He's going to have you and all your friends shot. Kill him before he has the chance.' A sudden spike in the fires surrounding him had the brunette screaming in pain as his nails clawed at his ribs.

"No," Marco ground out. "I'm not listening to you."

'Your men will die if you let him live.'

"Shut up!" he roared.

At the declaration, Ymir entered the tent without even announcing herself. Eyes going wide when she saw her brother doubled over and fighting for air, she immediately understood what had happened. Removing her nurses bonnet and rolling up both sleeves, she let her hair down so that it could frame her finely featured face. Thinking nothing of the searing hot fire surrounding him, she placed a hand on each temple of his head then took a deep breath. Caught in the haze of his overwhelming rage, Marco recognized her aura and looked up; their twinned freckled eyes lining up perfectly. Within seconds, she was able to project herself into him--hands latching onto him in a vice grip as she rummaged around in his mind to find the root of the problem.

It had so long since Ymir had to project herself into him that Marco had forgotten how unsettling it was to have another soul inside his body. Uncomfortable and nauseous--as if his skin weren't big enough to house both of them--he could feel his stomach churn and his heart race while beads of cold sweat broke out over his arms, chest, neck, and forehead. He could feel her moving through his thoughts; like heavy legs trudging through a bog. Bit by bit, Ymir diffused him; dismantling the individual components of his anger as if it were a puzzle. His joints eased like rusted hinges releasing after several years of being locked in place and the fire that had engulfed him dwindled as if a dampener had been taken to it. Marco had never succumbed to fits of madness before; had always been rational enough to keep his mind level. But after months of watching men--good friends and boys he'd gone to school with--die horrible bloody deaths, he had begun to wander off into the deep recesses of his mind.

No more could he rationalize the senseless slaughter. No more could he stand by and let his friends die. No more could he listen to old warhorses spout nonsense as if they had infinite wisdom and he had none. Who were they to question him?! Who were they to order him about as if he were some ordinary foot-soldier; as if he were human? Marco belonged to one of the strongest covens in the US and his family possessed a magic so powerful, they had been barred from ever teaching it to lesser witches. If anything, that old buffoon should be taking orders from him! Yet as the thoughts surfaced in his mind, they were swiftly extinguished by Ymir and her cleansing magic.

"Don't think such things Marco Bott," she warned him; hands still pressing into his temples. "You know better than to use your gift for intimidation."

"What good is havin' this power if I can't use it to protect others?" he challenged with a low growl before hissing when she pinched his ear. "They're going to die; thousands of them and we're supposed to sit back and let it happen?"

"Yes because it isn't our place to interfere with the actions of humans."

"We're human!"

"No, Marco, we aren't," Ymir snapped. "We are the last of our family. We're the last witches of our kind and I'll be damned if I'm goin' to lose you over somethin' as pointless as this."

"And my men? What about them? You're goin' to let them march off to their deaths?!"

Forcing her palms against his head as firmly as she could, Ymir glared at him. "I never said that. The men in your squad are like us, abnormal and strong. They'll make it out just fine. Tomorrow mornin' you're going to lead 'em across the Rappahannock as per your orders and then you'll retreat. Men will die but not yours. You have to accept that Marco. This is war and no one's a winner no matter how many battles are won. We just gotta survive until the end. Just a bit longer then we'll be out. Understand?"

Fighting a losing battle against the tears streaking his face, Marco nodded quietly. "I understand."

"Good," the woman said softly then collected him into her arms. "We'll be fine, Marco. I promise, I won't let anything happen to us. You're safe with me baby brother. You're safe here."

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Dark lashes fluttered open as Marco awoke from his dream. It had been years since he revisited that particular realm of hell he had lived through so many years ago. Yet even as he laid in his bed watching the ceiling fan spin, he could still feel the heat of the fire on his skin and the warmth of Ymir's hands framing his face. The Battle of Fredericksburg was one of the bloodiest wastes of life he had ever seen; a fools errand at its finest. So many of his friends had died that day when the reckless Union army tried to storm the banks of the Rappahannock. So many good men had been blown to pieces by cannon fire and laid to waste at the point of the Confederate bayonet and were left for dead on those glacial shores. And what for? What had they given their lives for?

Grunting as he sat up, the brunette was almost immediately greeted by the loving nudge of Barron's head rutting against the underside of his chin. Chuckling halfheartedly, Marco gave the cat long loving strokes down its back as he worked on leveling his breathing. He could still smell the gunpowder and grit that had once coated the inside of his nose. He could still remember the taste of dirt in his mouth after he had been flung more than forty feet after the hardened soil beneath his feet had been hit with a cannonball. Marco could still see the mangled bodies of his comrades lying around him--some in pieces while others clung to their nearly severed limbs screaming in pain. It was all so clear, so painfully clear even as he laid their waiting to die from the gunshot that had ripped through his left kidney. 

Yet even then, after passing out after choking on his hot bitter blood for what felt like an eternity, Marco didn't die. He had been spared from heaven's gates; dragged back to the world of the living by his heels and forcefully given near immortality for reasons unbeknownst to him. It had been a hundred years and some change since the Battle of Fredericksburg but it felt so fresh in his mind; the scars on his body acting as the reminders that he got to live while men more deserving than him were left for dead and buried in nameless graves.

Deciding it best not to wallow too long in the past, Marco dragged himself out of bed. He had only just fallen asleep an hour ago and had work in four hours so the due course should have been to go back to sleep. But how could he when he was being rundown by the familiar ghosts creeping up from his past? Switching into a pair of reflective matte black joggers, a long sleeve black thermal, a dark metallic gray lightweight runner's jacket, and his red, black, and white Brooks Ravenna 8 running shoes. Slipping his smartwatch on so that he could listen to music while on the go, Marco told Barron he'd be back in about a half hour.

Marco had to get out of the house; couldn't leave it fast enough as he locked the front door behind him with a single pass of his hand over the deadbolt hidden inside the wood. Standing on the stoop of the porch for a long moment, he closed both eyes, took a deep breath in, then relaxed with a sigh. He loved the smell of fresh rain on the ground and autumn leaves peppering the crisp air. There was something distinct about the way it smelled outside during fall. Some magic beyond him made the richer hints of earth and wood pop while banishing the overwhelming pollen from the summer and spring.

Pushing an earbud into either ear, the brunette turned on the Bluetooth in his watch and synced up the wireless headset. Once they were connected, he flipped through his music library searching for something that would take his mind off of Fredericksburg. Any kind of indie and folk music played it too close to home since they often reminded him of the hymns his father would sing at home or while he was thinking of his next church sermon; the plight of being a preachers son. Then again, almost all every song had some kind of tie back to his past. Living through both world wars--fighting in the trenches and leading a group of American pilots with the RAF--he then survived Vietnam and was an embedded agent during the Cold War. Everything served as a constant reminder that he didn't truly belong; that he was just a drifter, a wayfaring stranger floating through life merely observing others since he was unable to join them.

Looking back at the portion of his life that had been the least fucked up--probably because he was numb to his grief by then--Marco settled on "All Along The Watchtower" by Jimi Hendrix. He remembered listening to the song over the radio while in the back of a humvee on the road to North Vietnam. His friends, the last humans he ever tried befriending, were still alive. Most of them were young men in their late teens and early twenties and all of them from poorer middle class families, just like he had been when he was drafted into the Union almost a hundred years before.Smirking at the memory of Mickey nearly choking on his cigarette when their humvee when over a deep pothole, Marco sighed lightly then bound off from the front porch--running a half a block down the way before turning onto the foot trails through the dark woods.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Jean couldn't sleep. It was too risky with the cursed monster lurking in the shadows of his dreams; waiting to pounce him like a predator stalking its prey. Maybe that was because it was a predator and the blonde was definitely its prey; helpless while stuck in his unconscious state. Thankfully, Thursday was the one day he didn't have class so he could just stay up late and sleep during the day since the creature never bugged him when he slept in the afternoon between classes.

Not wanting to remain in his bedroom since the residual chill of the monsters presence still clung to the air in there, Jean opted to go on a run. It had been a while since he had had the time to indulge in brisk run through the backwoods trails by his place. Between his neighborhood and its "sister" district some couple miles away was a thick forest with dirt trails and soaring pines that fragranced the air with a deep spice that could only be caught on the passing autumn breeze. 

Mouthing the words to "Rhiannon" by Fleetwood Mac as he listened quietly to the song, the blonde jogged through the woods, not concerning himself with wondering where he was or where he was going. Having grown up relatively close to the area, he had these trails memorized. Jean had played in these woods as a child; used to run along the same path as he searched for a hiding spot with Armin and Mikasa while Eren counted to a hundred off in the distance.

Smiling brighter at the memory, he pushed off a larger rock with more force earning him some added spring in his step. He had missed home; felt like a ship searching for a port in a storm. These woods were the sirens song that called him back. That view of the cityscape at dawn juxtaposed against a backdrop of towering trees enchanted him and the familiarity of those streets comforted him. California had never been home. It was too sterile despite there being so many people. No one cared who you were, what you were doing, or how you felt. It was an egoist playground; a wonderland of fake smiles and ulterior motives. The people in southern California were always looking for a way to use their resources--people included--to their advantage and it left Jean with a bad taste for the state.

As soon as he graduated high school, the young man had moved back to his home state; forgiving it of the few flaws it had in exchange for the immense relief he felt when he stepped off the plane at Raleigh-Durham airport. His accent may have been long gone but he was still a North Carolinian at heart. Preferred the laid-back pace at which they took life and the quiet consideration the people had for one another. And despite it being the only place in the world that brought him such vivid nightmares, Jean could sacrifice a few hours of sleep in return for feeling at ease with everything else.

Turning onto the path that would connect to the trail on the other side of the woods, Jean slowed his pace before stopping entirely. He had been going for almost an hour straight and needed a break. The muscles that had been screaming at him for the last fifteen minutes thanked him as he took in a long steady breath then stretched down to touch his toes on the exhale.Hanging there with his arms dangling between his legs that had been spread apart as far as they would go, Jean let the knots in his back untangle themselves; helping them along with a twist of the obliques here and crack of his spine there. Sweating profusely and out of breath, he smiled that childlike smile of his that made his eyes dance and the corners of his lips curve up into a pair of faint dimples.

Righting himself, Jean looked at his watch while pressing two fingers against his neck where his pulse was the strongest. He loved his mother to pieces but unfortunately one of the things he inherited from her was tachycardia so he always had to be vigilant where his heart was concerned. It was as he was counting the number of beats for the second time that he heard a loud snap in the near distance behind him. Whipping around, the young man stared off into the blank space; looking at the trees as if they were about to come alive. Removing a headphone after pausing the music, he listened more carefully for a moment--was about to write it off as nothing--but then there came another snap.

Knowing that there could be wild animals running around in those woods, Jean took a few steps back but spun on his heels when he heard another branch break in the trees behind him. Something was there watching him. He could feel it in the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and as the goosebumps appeared across his arms and legs. There was something horribly off and part of him knew it wasn't of this world because Jean only felt this uneasy whenever the creature appeared in his dreams. 

Fear spiking at the thought of the monster manifesting in front of him, the blonde looked from side to side--trying to think of the best escape route. The longer he hesitated, the colder it got. His breath became visible and a thin low hanging fog crept through the trees as if it were coming right for him. Jeans heart raced and his lungs struggled to continue functioning as the scene played out. It were as though he were in some horror movie and the masked killer was about to jump out from behind a tree and stab him in the back. Yet his mind went for serial killer to otherworldly when he heard what could only be described as voices--murmuring maybe--floating through the air. Mingling with what sounded like heavy sighs in and out, the noise reverberated throughout the woods. There were more branches snapping and an owl calling from a nearby tree, all adding to how wrong this felt.

Jean wanted to run; commanded his legs to move but they wouldn't budge. Cemented to the ground, he watched in horror as a form took shape within the mist. It was hazy around the edges and seemed to flicker like an old film reel from the nineteen-twenties. Starting in a crouching position, the figure slowly stood up while the whispering and hushed voices grew louder. Eyes wide and mouth agape, Jean tried to reason with himself. Tried to tell himself that he was back at home in bed dreaming all of this up. But he wasn't at home and this was no dream. Walking toward him now, the shape became more clear; a young woman wearing white with long flowing hair cascading down in loose curls.

"Shit," Jean whispered as it drew closer, lifting its head enough that he could see her eyes; all milky white with only a thin ring where the iris should have been. "Fucking hell!"

He was about to turn his back and run but smacked face first into the shoulders of another person. Who would be out in the forest at this hour was beyond him. Then again, Jean was no one to judge others since he himself was on a late evening run through a deserted forest when everyone else was asleep or at home. Wincing at the hard contact, he looked up and was greeted by a pair of familiar honey brown eyes framed by a galaxy of freckles. 'For fucks sake, you got to be kidding me,' Jean thought as he looked into the mans eyes. It was him, the hottie from the coffee shop that always changed drink orders.

Looking into those enchanting pools of earthen brown for a second longer as words failed to form on his tongue, Jean looked over his shoulder as the chill left the air and the fog vanished. What the fuck was going on?! One moment, something pretty damn close to a ghost was inching its way closer to him and the air had been absolutely frigid as if to match the abject horror he felt. The next, the thing vanishes along with the cold air and fog leaving him looking around like some madman all while in the presence of the single most attractive man he had ever laid eyes on. Well, that was just a fantastic way to end his evening.

"Sorry about that," the brunette chuckled as he watched the young man glancing around as if he were trying to spot something in the distance. "I was changing the song I was listening to and didn't see you standing there on the trail."

"That's fine. It's..." Jean paused as he looked to the left then behind him and then faced the brunette, "not a problem. I should apologize to you..."

His voice trailed off when he got a good look at the man; the moonlight somehow making him more beautiful than the dim glow of the shop lamps at the Darwin. The longer wavy chocolate brown hair of his undercut had been raked to the side and out of the way revealing his flawless tanned skin covered in light smatterings of freckles that seemed so endearing on a man their age. Glittering earthen brown eyes gazed out past the fringe of thick dark lashes that brushed the tops of his cheeks when he blinked. A sweet near-button nose, a sly smile that teased at the dimples waiting to form at the corners of his perfect full lips, and a hidden beauty mark in the left corner of his mouth... He was perfect. Too beautiful for Jean to even put into words and his hazy mind wasn't helped along with its recovery when he caught the smell of deep cedar and crisp citrus wafting off of the mans dewy skin.

"You okay?" the brunette asked; his expression conveying genuine concern. "You didn't hurt yourself or anything did you?"

Shaking his head--partially to clear the haze from his mind--Jean forced his mouth to work. "No, I'm fine. I guess the woods spooked me a bit. Sorry, but aren't you the guy from the coffee shop?" he asked without even thinking; instantly regretting the words when the man arched both brows. But his anxiety was quelled when the man laughed and what a lovely sound it was.

"Yeah, and you're the barista. Jean, right?" he asked as he extended his hand. "I'm Marco."

Soft, his hand was so soft and warm Jean noticed. "Nice to meet you. How do you know my name though? We don't wear badges at Darwin."

"Your supervisor has popped his head out of the break room a couple times and called your name while I was ordering."

"O-Oh," he stammered, not entirely sure how to respond to that without looking like an idiot.

"What are you doing out here so late anyways?" Marco asked, his tone cool and smooth in despite of how probing the question was.

"I couldn't sleep," Jean answered honestly. "What's your excuse?"

Snorting a short laugh, the brunette shifted from one leg to the other as he buried his hands in the pockets of his joggers. "Just got off work. Needed to do something to help me unwind."

"Your job's that bad?" The blonde immediately bit down on his lip when the words left his mouth. Here he was, given a golden opportunity to finally talk to Tall Dark and Handsome and his reckless brain was fucking it all up. "Sorry, that was rude."

"It's alright. I appreciate honesty in all its forms. But no, my job doesn't suck; well, I don't think it does. The hours are taxing though and sometimes shit doesn't go my way." Smirking a little, he tilted his head to the side; his penetrating dark eyes fixed on Jean's face. "How about you? Working at the Darwin can't be all there is to your story."

"Well, I--" Jean began but jumped out of his skin when a branch broke in the surrounding trees. Scanning the area--his face paler than the moon--the young man turned back to Marco. "Sorry. Damn bird scared me."

"Maybe we could walk as we talk. I was wrapping up with my run anyways so it's no problem."

"Sure..."

They were silent for a moment as Marco led the way back to the trail Jean had originally turned off of. It was surreal, walking through the woods at night with the man he had been crushing on since he had started working at the Darwin several months ago. Never would he have believed that something like this could happen. Statistically speaking, the odds were somewhere in the thousands yet here he was taking a late evening stroll with the dreamy brunette.

Maybe this was a dream. Perhaps, Jean thought, he was still asleep and was at long last having a pleasant dream. Perhaps this was him fantasizing about the way he'd want them to meet in the real world. But if it were all a figment of his subconscious, then way would he include the bit with that rather realistic ghost? Sneaking a sideways glance at Marco, he couldn't help but feel the magnetic pull of his flawless profile that drew him in like a moth to the candle. The allure he possessed was devastating; crippling, in fact.

"So," Marco spoke, breaking the spell of silence that had been cast over them. "What else do you do?"

"Huh?"

"You never answered my question."

Catching the smile in his tone, Jean couldn't stop the half-hung smirk from forming on his lips. "I'm not all that interesting honestly. I'm a college student and work at a coffee shop when I'm not killing myself trying to get decent grades like all other university students."

Marco shook his head at the comment. "You don't think too highly of yourself, do you. What's your major?"

"Anthropology with a concentration in magic, witchcraft, and religion," the blonde answered as they stepped over a log lying in the middle of the path.

"That's an interesting choice."

"I guess. How about you? I take it you aren't a student."

"No, I graduated a while ago. I was a double major though."

"You seem like the psych kind of guy."

"Ha!" Marco belted with a wicked grin. "Not a chance in hell."

"Criminal justice?"

"Getting warmer."

Exiting the woods, Jean looked around before he noticed they were back in his neighborhood. "Crap. Sorry, I didn't notice I was heading back to my place. You're in the other direction right?"

"You're fine. I live around here too."

Brows furrowing for a moment, Jean wondered why they hadn't met sooner if that were the case.

"Where's your place?" Marco asked with an almost innocent expression except for the flash that flickered in the depths of his eyes. "I'll give you three more chances to guess what I studied while we walk back."

Okay, now he definitely was dreaming. There was no way in heaven or hell that Marco was offering to walk him home; not with that dazzling look in his eyes he wasn't. But Jean couldn't help himself. If this were a dream, he was going to milk it for all it was worth and enjoy every fabricated moment with this bewitching man that puzzled him so. Jerking his head to the right, he motioned for them to head south on Black Oak Avenue. Letting the blonde lead the way, Marco waited patiently for the young man to speak. After a block, Jean cleared his throat.

"Forensic Science?"

"Nope," Marco shook his head. "You were closer with criminal justice."

Thinking for a long moment, Jean tried to remember what else could possibly tie into that field of study. "Criminology?"

"That's one out of two. Now for the other."

Taking another glance at the man, he sought out clues in his composure and the way he carried himself. The brunette was cunning; Jean didn't have to know him personally to gather that much. He was a quick thinker, good at problem solving and critical analysis most likely, and possessed an air of danger to him. The Marco in front of him now was entirely different from the cheeky client that came in every evening for his late night coffee. Moreover, he didn't seem like the kind of man that would be content working behind a desk all day.

Stopping in front of the house Jean rented with Armin and Eren, the young man couldn't tear his gaze away from Marco's. The magnetic pull radiating from him was so powerful and unrelenting that it drew him in the way riptides dragged swimmers out to sea. It hadn't occurred to him that they were slowly inching closer to one another; the tip of his nose just a breath away from the mans chin. 'He's taller than I thought,' Jean admitted to himself in silence. Watching as Marco looked up at the quaint colonial style brick home covered on the sides with creeping ivy, the young man admired the sharpness of his jaw, the smooth expanse of his honeyed skin, and the elegant plunge of his throat.

"So," the brunette spoke with a voice richer than the finest wine. "Have you figured out the last bit?"

Staring at his lips--mouth going dry at the thought of kissing them--Jean swallowed hard to clear his head. "Political science?"

Lips splitting into a catlike grin, Marco breathed out an airy laugh. "You should consider changing your major, Jean. You've got a talent for psycho-analyzing people."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you guessed right." Leaning in closer, Marco brushed his lips against Jeans ear sending shivers up and down the young mans spine. "Careful with how much you stare. I may begin to notice if you aren't discreet."

Blushing furiously, the blonde was just about to deny his actions when he felt a rush of gentle heat press against his lips. It was so brief he could have sworn it hadn't happened at all. But the tingling left behind by the feather soft touch and the devilish look in Marco's eyes told him otherwise. He couldn't speak. Couldn't think or move. All Jean could manage was reaching up to brush the tips of his fingers over the surface of his lips as he watched Marco step down from the stoop of the front porch with a cocky grin.

"Night," was all the man said as he turned and left; closing the short wooden gate behind him as he did.

Eyes following him as he left, Jean watched Marco vanish down the street before going inside. Closing the door quietly behind him so that it didn't wake up his roommates or Eren's loudmouth dog, Lady, the young man leaned against the door. Tracing the curve of his lips, he tried remembering the kiss. While it may have been fleeting, he could easily recall how smooth and warm Marco's lips were and how perfect it felt having them formed over his. The faintest trace of peppermint lingered on his mouth; most likely a ghost of the brunettes chapstick. Smiling like a teenage girl who had just been kissed by the handsome quarterback from the schools varsity team, Jean felt happier than he had in a long time.

"Wow..."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marco was in the middle of reading over the mission brief for the containment plan Erwin had given him in regards to Emery Jacobson when he heard a commotion from outside his office. A symphony of shrill wails, feral hisses, and guttural growls grew in their loudness as the lift arrived and the metal doors opened. Getting up to see what all the fuss was about, the man was hit by a wall of frigid air that simultaneously had his nerves going haywire as he exited the office.

It was no wonder the netherworld denizens were reacting so strongly when the brunette saw who had just arrived. Clad in the typical huntsman gear, formfitting black leather pants with a matching utility belt, and a black mesh long sleeve top that showcased her dangerous curves was Kat van Arcadia, the most infamous of witches employed by the FBSP. At her side was her familiar, Bartok who possessed the unique ability to change forms. Tonight the daemon was a large black panther with startling golden eyes; a week ago it was a flying fox with blue eyes.

The heels of Kat's boots echoed throughout the space as she approached Marco; a fiendish grin parting her delicate petal pink lips that were punctuated by a pair of snake bite captive rings. As petite in stature as she was, the womans presence alone made her far more intimidating than the largest and tallest of creatures. Like all dark magic wielding witches, her hazel eyes were encircled with a black ring at the center of her irises that hummed electric violet whenever she was using magic. However, because she was the strongest of the huntsmen--an elite force tasked with dispatching the really nasty rogue denizens--there was an added layer of danger to her aura; a threat that she intentionally exuded in warning in case someone forgot their place in the food chain. Yet this message did not apply to Marco.

Greeting her with a quick hug, Marco was happy to see his squad mate safe and sound. "Good to see you made it home in one piece," he chuckled; not missing the faint pink claw marks that were still healing on the left of her neck. "How was Seattle?"

"Dreary, like always."

"Sounds 'bout right," he smirked. Following her into his office, Marco closed the door behind them just as Kat had plopped down into the luxe dark brown leather couch that lined the wall closest to his desk. "I take it Erwin's filled you in on the situation."

Nodding slowly--her eyes not once breaking contact with his--the witch stroked the fur of her familiars head as it purred contentedly. "Seems you fine folk have a would-be Jack the Ripper skulking around town. Have you gotten your marching orders yet?"

"Got them first thing this morning."

"And?"

Biting his lip, Marco sighed. "Incineration. He's killed too many humans to be salvaged through rehab."

"Is he one of yours?"

"No."

Catching the drop in his tone, Kat rolled her head forward. "Is he Levi's?"

Marco looked up and gave a solemn nod. "Erwin asked me to review the case and see if there was any chance of rehabilitation before we broke the news to Levi. Unfortunately, Jacobson has gone off the deep end. He's past recovery so the only option left is termination before he kills anyone else."

"Lee must be beside himself right now. You know how invested he gets in his wards."

"I know. He hasn't left his office all morning. He's just sat there at his desk staring at Emery's picture with his head in his hands."

"Shit."

Bobbing his head, the brunette sighed. "Yeah, it's been rough. But since Jacobson is his ward, he's the one that has to carry out the extermination."

"And I'm here 'cause...?"

"We need back up. The guy can manipulate the astral planes and energy fields and this gets stronger the more he feeds. We don't know how much energy he's consumed but it's enough to cause a disturbance powerful enough that it forcefully ejected over eighty humans out of the projection plane."

Eyes widening, Kat planted her feet firmly on the ground as she leaned forward. "What the fuck? There's no way he could do that. Only--"

"Witches and daemons can cause that large of a disturbance? I know. That's what I told Erwin but then I read over the file and it was all there."

"Fucking hell." Collapsing back into the cushions, she was quiet for a long moment. "There's no other way around it then. If he consumes anymore than he already has there'll be no stopping him. When do we move out?"

"Midnight tonight outside of the cemetery gates of Saint Mary's."

"How appropriate and terribly cliche of Erwin to make the meet-up spot a church cemetery."

"It's classic him, you shouldn't be all that surprised."

Snorting a laugh, Kat rolled her eyes as she got up. "Right. Well, I'm going to go polish my knives and coated a few needles in the off-chance I need to use them. See you at midnight?"

Nodding once, Marco smirked. "See you at midnight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, though I haven't decided what I want to do with the comments section yet, I have to share this song with ya'll since it not only sets the tone for this chapter as well as the others, but it also is somewhat of Marco's character song for this fic. He's a weary old soul that's lived for so long that he's just fed up with it all. This folk piece speaks to that and how he wants nothing more than to reach his final rest. So here, from me to you, is "The Wayfaring Stranger."
> 
>  
> 
> THE WAYFARING STRANGER
> 
> By: Jack White (listed version)
> 
> I am a poor wayfaring stranger  
> Traveling through this world alone  
> There is no sickness, toil, nor danger  
> In that fair land to which I go
> 
> I'm going home  
> To see my mother  
> I'm going home  
> No more to roam  
> I am just going over Jordan  
> I am just going over home
> 
> I know dark clouds will hover o'er me,  
> I know my pathway is rough and steep  
> But golden fields lie out before me  
> Where weary eyes no more will weep
> 
> I'm going home to see my father  
> I'm going home no more to roam  
> I am just going over Jordan  
> I am just going over home
> 
> I'll soon be free from every trial  
> This form shall rest beneath the sun  
> I'll drop the cross of self-denial  
> And enter in that home with God
> 
> I'm going home to see my savior  
> I'm going home no more to roam  
> I am just going over Jordan  
> I am just going over home
> 
>  
> 
> (Original revised lyrics of the song are credited to Charles Davis Tillman, circa 1858.)


	3. Bleed Like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean sees a familiar face in the pages of his history book and three witches go hunting in a dark dark wood...
> 
>  
> 
> READER BEWARE!!: Trigger Warnings are in effect for violence, gore, and disturbing imagery. This will be the norm from here on out so consider yourself warned!

"Hurry darlings, this way," Mercy spoke in a low hurried tone as she led Ymir and Marco to their room. Lifting the hidden door between the simple wooden frames of their twin beds, she turned around, her amber eyes swimming with restrained fear. "Quick, there isn't time. Down you go."

Without a word, both children stepped down into the narrow crawl space hidden beneath their ancestral home. Straw covered the damp ground that was still soggy from the last rainstorm that had blown through earlier in December. It was cold and the squeaking of rats scampering away could be heard. Kneeling on the rough wooden floor next to the door, Mercy removed the small cross pendent from around her neck and slipped the thin leather strap around Marco's head then handed her onyx rosary to Ymir. Taking both their small hands in hers, the young woman closed her jeweled eyes as she whispered a prayer under her breath. Curls of her raven hair fell in front of her angelic face as she bent over to kiss both of her children on their forehead.

"Remember what I told you, you mustn't make a sound. No matter what you hear or see, do not come out until dawn."

"Mamma, where's pappa?" Marco asked with wide panic-stricken eyes. "Why hasn't he come home?"

Holding the boys sweet face in her slender hands, she swiped her thumbs over his cheeks; admiring how sweet he was one last time. "Don't worry sweetlove. You're safe here."

"Mamma," Ymir cried, her voice cracking from the grief. "Please don't leave. They'll--"

"Shh my sweet," Mercy smiled softly as tears streaked her flushed cheeks. "I know but I must go."

"Mamma!" the girl protested. Lunging forward she wrapped her arms around her mothers form with her face buried in her lap. "Please mamma! They'll hurt you! I saw them take you from us and---"

"I know Ymir. I believe you darling, but I must go. Be a good girl and protect your brother." Peeling Ymir's arms off her bent legs--untangling the child's fingers from her apron and dress--Mercy placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "At first light, crawl to the end of the tunnel on the far-side of the house. The door at the end will open under the hay stack in the stables. Inside the barrel with red stripes are two sealed pails with enough food to keep you until you reach Falls Church. Take the old trail through the wood, stay hidden in the day, and do not tell anyone your given name. And you mustn't use your magic. Understand my love?"

Nodding as hot sorrowful tears poured from her eyes in silence, Ymir swallowed hard on the grief swelling within her. "I love you mamma. Please, don't leave us alone."

"It's alright darling, you'll never be without me." Taking the child's hand in which she had placed the rosary, Mercy kissed her tanned freckled fingers. "I am right here. These gifts I give to you both possess a part of me. Whenever you feel afraid or alone, hold these close to your heart and think of me." Kissing Ymir once again on the forehead then Marco, she looked at them for the last time--unwavering love and devotion welling up behind those golden eyes that looked so much like her daughters. "Go and do not return to this home little ones. Stay silent, stay safe."

Pulling down the hidden door just as there came a violent series of heavy knocks against the front door, Mercy looked over her shoulder as she rose to her feet; her black hair cascading down her petite shoulders like a waterfall as the layers of her dark blue dress rustled. Standing directly over the secret crawlspace, she backed up against the wall as a symphony of voices united in anger drew closer to the small bedroom. Quickly, before anyone could hear, the children crawled to the other side of the dark space. Mud squished beneath their hands and knees and straw poked their soft skin drawing small welts over their fingertips and wrists. Huddling up in the darkest corner by the tunnel, Ymir held onto Marco tightly; one hand cradling the back of his head--the other around his waist--as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Gazing up through the slim slats in the floor, the children watched a nightmare unfold.

Forcing the door open with a violent kick, William Goodwin--the town blacksmith--led the mob of townspeople into the bedroom; cornering the young mother like a lamb for the slaughter. At his side was Judge Edmond Parrish and Constable Macon Bishop. These men whose children she had delivered, whose wives she had nursed back to health, and whose daughters she had watched over after school no longer called her friend. No more was she Mrs. Bott, the town midwife and healer. No longer was she the beloved wife of the pastor and proud mother of two beautiful children. No more did they see her as Mercy Goody, the enchanting daughter of the well-to-do family from the town of Charlotte. Now, she was a monster caught wearing sheep's clothing.

"Mercy Bott, you are hereby being placed under arrest," sneered Judge Parrish.

"On what grounds? What are the crimes of which I stand accused?" she countered; her voice hoarse as she pressed against the wall further, the bottom of the crucifix nailed above her brushing the top of her raven curls. "Where is my husband? What have you done with him?"

"Silence witch!" William Goodwin barked as Constable Bishop approached her with the irons for her wrists. "Your words can't save you now. You and your cohort may have been able to trick us before but we will no longer be blinded by your dark magic."

"Please, I don't know what this is about. I have been nothing but a humble servant to this town and its people."

Before the constable could cuff her, William rushed forward--his hand reaching out to grab a fistful of her hair. Pulling her towards him with a hateful yank of her silken curls, the blacksmith brought the woman to her knees. Crouching down beside her, his hungry gaze dragged up and down her form with a frightening mixture of lust and fury. Breathing in heavily--catching the faintest traces of the lavender oil on her skin--he exhaled with renewed anger. How dare this woman invade his dreams. How dare she elicit such perverse thoughts and stir adulterous greed within his heart! Staring at the pale column of her exposed neck for a moment, his darkened eyes flickered up to her face that was twisted in pain.

"You can hide no more, witch," William grinned darkly. "You will face judgment for your crimes just like your filthy Romani husband did."

"Confess now and we will spare your children," Judge Parrish commanded, glaring at the woman as if she were vermin. "Lie, and you will watch your spawn hang as you burn."

Marco's eyes hummed violet as his anger flared but stopped when Mercy spat in the judge's eye. A loud smack crackled through the air when the mans hand slapped her harshly against the delicate skin of her cheek and lips. Bent over as if she had just had the wind knocked out of her, she began to laugh was blood trickled down her chin and dotted the wooden floorboards beneath her. Muttering under her breath in her mother tongue so that only her children below could understand what had been said, Mercy stalled for a moment longer--waiting until she knew Ymir and Marco had quietly crawled deeper into the tunnel.

"You murder my beloved," she spoke, eyes glowing bright as a ring of angry violet formed around her irises. "You threaten my children." The crowd slowly backed up as the crackling of electricity filled the air. "If it is a witch hunt you are looking for, you needn't look any further."

"Holy spirit above!" shrieked a woman in the mob as she watched in horror. "Look at her arms!"

"You wanted a witch," Mercy growled as black flames sprouted up from her legs; swiftly engulfing her in a barrier of scorching hot fire. "I'll show you what a witch scorned truly looks like!"

Crawling through the tunnel as fast as they could, Ymir sobbed as she urged Marco to move quicker. Behind her she could hear the screams as their mother broke her vows and laid waste to the mob of humans that had come to arrest her. Possessing a magic so lethal and frightening in strength, Mercy unleashed a fire so hot, it incinerated the three leaders of the group, turning the blacksmith, the constable, and judge into piles of ash within seconds. Growling like a wild beast, the woman let her dark magic consume her, fill her heart with uncontrollable rage, and possess her mind. 

There would be no going back now. There would not be another kiss goodnight to the soft foreheads of her beloved children. There would not be another afternoon filled by their sweet laughter or another night spent wrapped in the loving arms of her husband. This final spell was binding. A sacrifice made to protect the ones she loved more than herself; more than her eternal soul. Breaking her oath to never harm a human, Mercy offered no compassion. Letting the fire burn brighter, higher, and more furious, she rose to her feet--standing at the center of the ruin she created as the blaze turned flesh and wood to ash and smoldering embers.

Mouth agape as the dark magic turned on her--her pale skin flaking and floating away like leaves of burning paper while black cracks formed across her face, neck, and chest--twinned tears fell from her eyes as she gazed upwards; the deterioration of her body bringing her to her knees once more. Smiling as visions of her children laughing flashed across her eyes, she could hear her husbands loving voice calling to her. Lungs failing as her heart slowed, Mercy laughed lightly.

Before her throat closed and the air was robbed forever from her lungs, Mercy whispered into the aether, "I love you..."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marco sat in the front seat of his parked car, the back reclined into the resting position. Staring up at the ceiling--watching the light from passing cars dance across the black fabric lining of the interior roof--the brunette let his mind swim with memories from countless lifetimes ago. The dreams had been getting worse; they had been bad before but never like this. Reaching up, he pulled the old silver cross out from behind his white crew neck tee. Clutching it in his hand, he held it close while closing both eyes. There, in the back of his mind, Marco could still hear his mothers' voice. Could still smell the lavender on her skin. Could still hear the laughter in her tone. Could feel her warmth around him as if she were still alive; the ghost of her slender arms blanketing his shoulders in a loving embrace. 'I love you,' whispered a voice so sweet, it broke his hardened heart.

Eyes fluttering open, the brunette inhaled sharply as if the softly spoken words had harmed him. He could feel her presence. The curse of her love had stained him and Ymir, marking them for life; tying her haunting last words to them like a lead weight around the neck. Those words that had saved them--that had acted as a counter to her uncontrollable magic and spared them the same fate she had suffered--were now a scar upon their hearts; a festering wound that could only be masked but never healed. She had traded her life for theirs. Willingly gave up her eternal soul for their survival; a true sacrifice born from the purest love. Yet Marco had lost grip of the beauty she had revealed to him as a child. Had forgotten the joy and wonder of life because his heart could no longer feel what it once had.

Rolling his head to the side, he watched the clock on the dash strike 9:30 p.m. He was too anxious to go home after his meeting with Kat. Was so sick to his stomach with anticipation and dread that sitting in his office for a second longer would have driven him insane. Parked outside the Darwin--which was only four blocks away from Saint Mary's--Marco contemplated going inside. It was Thursday so his regular barista wouldn't be in and that usually meant that the drinks wouldn't taste the same. He had tried stomaching drinks made by the other men and women that worked there but nothing was quite the same as the lattes and spiced teas Jean made.

Absentmindedly brushing the tips of his fingers over his lips, Marco reminisced about their shared kiss the night before. The blonde's skin was so warm and his lips were just as soft as he thought they'd be. That kiss that oddly tasted of vanilla hung in the rafters of his mind; lingering like a cloud of incense muddling his thoughts. It hadn't been planned either. Marco knew getting involved with a human was wrong and that it'd only hurt in the end but his body moved on its own. And it wasn't just his lips that haunted him but also his voice, that shy awkward smile he wore every time Marco visited, those honey eyes that were so familiar... Everything about Jean drew him in like a sirens call. 'This is dangerous,' the brunette thought to himself; breaking the obsessive train of thought. 'He's a human. He'll only end up dying before you, you idiot.' Not only would Jean die before him but chances were that he'd run from him in horror if he knew what he really was.

"Like anyone wants me to begin with," Marco snickered to himself as he sat up and adjusted the seat. He might as well get something to drink since he was already there. Turning to Barron, Marco scratched behind his ear gently. "I'll be back in a bit. I'm just getting something to drink." When it nipped his finger in protest, the brunette chuckled. "I'll bring back a breakfast sandwich so you can have the salmon. Happy?"

When the cat nudged the underside of his knuckles, Marco knew all was well with his familiar. Bending over, he kissed Barron's head then unbuckled and left the car. It had been raining off and on all day and the air still smelt of damp asphalt, fallen leaves, and smoke from fires burning in the fireplaces of nearby houses. Breathing into his cupped hands, Marco rubbed them together to get some heat going in his fingers. When that didn't work he shoved them into the pockets of his jacket and headed toward the front entrance.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jean couldn't stand another minute in the eerie silence of his room so instead of studying at home like he normally did he had decided to hide away in the corner of the reading lounge at the Darwin. Separate from the cafe, the "library" was a modeled after an old timey smoking lounge with oak bookcases lining the walls, plush leather armchairs grouped together in two's and three's while three burgundy velvet sofas corralled the sitting area in front of the grand fireplace. Quieter than the rest of the shop, the space was utilized by students, professors, and businessmen and women alike.

Turning the page of his American History textbook, the blonde rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. He'd been studying for his midterm for the past three hours but nothing seemed to be sticking. Jean couldn't understand why either since his favorite time period was the Civil War era. It intrigued him how people who were once neighbors and good friends could so easily turn on each other. That and the number of historical events and institutions that came out of the war was astonishing. However, the downside to studying the subject was looking at the faces of the soldiers and knowing that the majority of them had died horrible deaths.

Eyes flickering to the next page just as the bell on the front door rang, he looked up without thought. Breath hitching in his throat, Jean swallowed hard on the nerves that abruptly surfaced when he spotted Marco leaning against the pastry case; his beautiful umber eyes gazing up at the menu while the warm light from the overhead bulbs bathed him in a golden gleam. 'How can anyone be that gorgeous?!' Jean cursed silently. No one should have any business looking that stunning.

Blushing when Marco's gaze met his, Jean looked back down at his textbook. Holding his breath, his eyes peeked above the rim of the book. The man had gone back to reading the menu. Yet, a half second later, he too stole a second glance at the young man. This time, the connection between them lingered. There was a curiosity in the way Marco was looking at him that made his stomach knot and his pulse race. Resting his chin atop his folded arms, the brunette watched Jean with a gaze so intense it could have burned holes through him. It were as if the brunette was trying to figure him out; like Jean were a mystery that he was hell bent on unraveling. Thankfully the spell was broken when Eren came out of the back to ring in Marco's order.

Exhaling a sigh, Jean returned to his reading. Skimming over the introduction to the new section, his eyes darted to the picture for Figure 1 which was a page and a half discussing the Battle of Fredericksburg. It was heartbreaking really. Most of the young men that had been photographed weren't much older than he was. Many were still in their teens and had signed up for the war thinking it'd be an easy short-lived fight. How could they have known that it would be one of the grizzliest conflicts in American history? How could those men know that they'd be shot dead before even crossing the river or stabbed with a Confederate bayonet if they somehow managed to make it to the other side of the Rappahannock? Those poor souls that wanted nothing more than to go home would be shot dead and buried in a mass grave while their mothers wept hundreds of miles away.

However, as he looked over the Yankee soldiers of Grey's special forces battalion Jean was greeted with a familiar set of eyes. Staring back at him in black and white was a man with dark hair, eyes as deep as the ocean, and freckled skin beneath the soot smudges on his flawless cheeks and neck. 'The fuck?' Jean stared harder at the soldier, wondering if he was perhaps seeing things wrong; that somehow his eyes had gone to shit in the last ten seconds and his prescription had to be adjusted. But his vision was fine and his glasses weren't smudged. 'No way....'

As inconspicuously as he could manage, the young man snuck a peek at the brunette standing at the bar waiting for his drink. Memorizing his profile--though he already had time and time again--Jean looked back at the nameless soldier. 'They're exactly alike. But that's impossible; it can't be possible.' Reading the names listed under the photographer, he searched for Marco's last name in the off-chance that this was his great great cousin or something along those lines. Yet there was nothing. Between "Charles M. Wake" and "Benjamin R. O'Hara" was the descriptor "unnamed soldier." 

"I thought you didn't work Thursday nights," spoke a familiar voice.

Turning his gaze upward, Jean was met by Marco's curious eyes that darted from the book to his face.

"I don't," he managed to say as he closed the textbook. "It was too quiet at home so I was studying here. My friend also said he'd tutor me during his break since I'm having a hard time with the reading."

"You mind?" the brunette gestured to the armchair opposite of him. When Jean shook his head, he sat down. "What's the subject? Maybe I could help?"

Glancing at the book, he felt a twinge of fear for reasons he could not begin to fathom. "American history."

"That's pretty broad."

"My midterm is covering the Draft Riots, all of the Civil War, and the assassination of Lincoln."

"That is a lot," Marco mused with an indecipherable expression as he picked up the book. 

Quickly looking at Jean who swallowed hard, Marco flipped it open--landing almost immediately on the page the blonde had been staring at moments ago. Sectioned off in a shaded box was a selected reading titled "Massacre on the Rappahannock: The Battle of Fredericksburg." The brunette's lungs tightened and his heart skipped when he saw the faces of his fallen friends. Benjamin, who had just married his sweetheart earlier that year, had his leg blown off minutes before he was shot in the back. Charles or "Chuck" as they had all called him, was shot in the chest when his squad crossed the river and drown in the raging waters; he had just welcomed his third child into the world the previous winter. Landing on his own portrait, Marco could scarcely recognize himself. So much had changed since then yet time had stood still, refusing to age him past thirty.

"Fredericksburg, huh," the brunette murmured. "Surprised anyone remembered that one."

Brows knitting together in utter confusion, Jean tilted his head to get a better look at Marco's face. "Why would you say that?"

"Because historians usually focus on Antietam, Gettysburg, Shiloh... Bigger battles that involved multiple divisions and rank commanders. Fredericksburg was a drop in the bucket compared to those which is why I'm shocked your professor would focus on something as pointless as that."

"Pointless? That's a bit critical."

"Well it was wasn't it? The Confederates won so what's the point?"

Staring at him incredulously, Jean licked his lip as he gathered his thoughts. "It wasn't pointless. The entire battle strategy of the Union army changed after Fredericksburg. It was a key turning point in the war because it was one of the last major battles they lost."

"A loss is still a loss no matter what you learn from it Jean."

"Why are you so adamant about this? It's like you have a chip on your shoulder about it or something."

Chuckling a little, Marco closed the book then tossed it onto the coffee table between them. "Family roots run deep. I came from a Yankee family so I guess you could say I have a chip on my shoulder." Glancing down at his watch, he sighed. "Anyways, I've got to get going. Good luck on your midterm."

"Wait..." Pausing when the brunette turned to face him, Jean struggled to remember what he wanted to say. "About last night, I--"

"What about last night?" Not giving him a chance to retaliate, Marco picked up his drink and nodded. "Night."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Levi and Kat were already waiting in the church cemetery by the time Marco got there. Decked out in an upgraded version of her usual outfit, the huntsman had three black weapon belts strapped to her left thigh, a collapsible crossbow on her back, and rounds of negatively charged ammunition that she had cursed with her dark magic. Adjusting her knee high "ass kicking" boots that could bust down a reinforced solid wood door with ease, the platinum blonde witch blew her unruly bangs out of her face while conversing with her colleague.

Rolling his eyes at Kat's lewd comment about Hollywood's take on vampires, Levi glanced down at his watch. Wearing a fitted black turtleneck with sleeves that covered the rough "153733" tattoo on his left arm, slim black cargo pants, and combat boots with a set of weapon belts hooked to his right thigh and a pair of long silver daggers strapped to his hips--one on either side--he looked more intimidating than he usually did. Expressionless yet somehow still showing irritation, it was obvious that he was still upset by the current state of things. 

Jacobson may have been one of his more troubled charges, but he understood the man and knew that he had genuinely wanted to assimilate to general population. But the guy had relapsed like a junkie and had now lost his mind. Now, all that was left to do was for Levi to shoot the man with one of his cursed bullets which would paralyze Jacobson and then he'd place his hand on the mans head and incinerate him with a flame so hot, it scorched the ground beneath its victim; turning it barren.

"About time you showed up," Levi groused when his partner appeared, walking carefully between the tombstones and stone angels. "It's almost midnight. We have to get this over before the witching hour or we're fucked."

"Sorry, I got caught up in conversation," Marco apologized as he zipped up his black hoodie.

"Whatever."

Looking between them, Kat bit her lip as Levi stepped off toward the back gate leading into the woods. "Don't mind him. He's still upset about the whole thing."

"I know but he doesn't have to tear my head off."

"I know but let 'im be Marco. He's hurting and it won't get any better by the end of the night."

"Yeah," he sighed heavily. Looking down, Marco clicked his tongue at Barron. "Come on kit, let's go."

Without another word, the feline shot out ahead of them, leapt onto a tombstone, and jumped into the air, morphing into a large raven seconds later. Running behind it was Marco whose eyes had begun to glow with the violet rings forming around the irises. Beside him was Levi whose steel gray eyes that shined like starlight had turned a freakish white while Kat's hummed with the same shade of purple as her friends. While Barron flew ahead, Bartok remained in feline form and ran off into the forest to scout the terrain. Before hitting the woods, Medea switched forms; taking on the body of a large ghost like cat with black smoke swirling around her as if she were a nightmare coming to claim its dreamer.

Following their familiars, the witches entered the dark woods with zero trepidation. All three were huntsmen--the most elite of fighters within the FBSP--and they were each the strongest of their kind; a trio of lethal forces combine to be the end of anyone who dared to disturb the balance between humans and denizens. With their sight enhanced by the conjuring of their magic, they split up with half a yard between them, each following their daemon companion. 

Steering clear of any spectrals or faeries, both Seelie and Unseelie, Marco could feel his pulse race, his legs loosen with every step, and his agility heighten. Pushing down on a large rock in the middle of his path, he smiled as he used the momentum to drive him forward even faster. Landing firmly on the ground a shiver shot up his spine. Switching courses, he ran in the direction of the sensory emission had come from. Looking to Barron, he told the daemon to inform the others that he had changed directions. Heeding his orders, the bird released a call so loud it could be heard across the vast expanse of the forest. Moments later came a roar from Bartok and a growl from Medea telling him that their masters had received the message.

Bounding down the familiar path Marco frequented on his nightly runs, a twisted grin stretched across his lips. "See you soon Jacobson."

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Jean couldn't sleep again; this time not because of what he saw but because of the faint breathing tickling his ear as drifted in between awake and dozing. This was the fourth night this had happened and it was beginning to take its toll on him; had him considering switching to night classes and sleeping during the day since it was the only time he wasn't tormented by the beast. Exhausted beyond the point of your average college student, he operated on auto-pilot, just drifting through the motions.

Breathing heavy with sweat beading his forehead while wearing a look of fatigue, Jean pushed himself to go as fast as his legs could take him. They screamed in protest, begging him to stop the torture but he was unrelenting. His day had started off shitty, falling asleep in Professor Zoe's medical anthro lecture had only made it worse, and--on top of his nightmares--the man he had been crushing on for months now was acting as if he hadn't kissed him the night before. 'Fucking idiot,' Jean growled to himself. 'That's what I get for getting my hopes up. What the fuck did you expect Kirstein? Why would someone like him want to be with someone like you?' 

Heaving in air until a cough erupted from his lungs, the blonde came to a rolling stop when the hacking didn't even out. Bracing himself with his hands on his knees, Jean breathed in, held it for three long seconds, then exhaled. Repeating the process a few more times, he could feel him stoic facade begin to crack. It had been a long week--longer than most--and the small light that had sparked in his heart the night before had been snuffed out by the same person that had put it there. Was he really that undesirable? It had been years since his last relationship and he was beginning to wonder if the problem wasn't everyone else. 'Maybe I'm just meant to stay single and work myself to death,' he pondered listlessly.

It was as he was really starting to spiral into self-deprecation that he noticed someone else on the trail with him. Curled up against a tree was a young woman sobbing with her head in her hands. Her clothes looked as though they had been shredded by a wild under which were fresh lacerations. Choking on her quiet cries, her messy blonde curls fell in front of her face like a veil but not enough to hide the bruising on her cheek that blossomed out to cover her lower right jaw. 'Holy shit,' Jean breathed to himself. What had driven this poor girl out into the woods at night and what had she ran into that had her looking like that.

Approaching her carefully, Jean made sure to keep his voice even as he spoke. "Miss," he said, "is everything alright? Do you need me to call the police?"

Shaking her head, she pulled her arms in closer; shrinking back against the tree to keep her distance. "D-Don't. Go away, I don't want anyone near me."

"I'm sorry, I really am, but I can't leave you out here like this. You're arms are bleeding and your jaw looks pretty roughed up too. I promise, I'm not going to hurt you."

Sniffling, she peeked at him through the tangled tresses of shimmering golden blonde hair. Bright blue eyes stared back at him with tears flowing freely from them. The woman was a shivering, crying wreck lost in the middle of the woods without a soul in sight to help her. Gaze roaming over him, she shifted just a bit so that she could better see him and so that he could better see her. As their eyes met, Jean felt a familiar creeping sensation along his spine. Forcing his body to function, he knelt down next to her with an extended hand.

"Come on, let me help you get out of here. Your legs look pretty beaten up too, will you be okay to walk or do you need me to carry you?"

Gauging his sincerity with an ounce or two of skepticism, she took his hand. "I'll be fine I think."

The moment their palms met, Jean's gut wrenched and his nerves screamed to run. Something was wrong, so horribly wrong and his intuition was telling him that not everything he was seeing was true. Staring into the young woman's eyes he could see the first of many tells surfacing. The pure blue was suddenly hazier; clouded like the sun on a foggy day. Looking back to their hands he almost recoiled when her skin lost its flushed glow. Paler than a sheet, it were as if all the color had been wrung from her body.

"Don't leave me," she breathed as her hand gripped his wrist even tighter. "You can't leave. Please, stay here."

Fighting against her monstrous strength, the chill that had been nagging him since he spotted her on the path spiked, evolving into a frenzied scream to run away as he possibly could. As the young woman's eyes turned white and she clawed at his shirt, Jean stepped backward to get away. As he did, there came a loud crack from directly behind him. Hairs standing up on the nape of his neck and all along his arms, he didn't need to turn around to know that there was someone else--something else--on the path blocking his only way out.

"What a shame, you're nothing like my usual but I suppose I can't be picky when I'm this hungry," mused a voice as smooth as silk yet as chilling as the frigid air.

Knowing full well now that the woman holding onto him was an illusion--as crazy as it sounded--Jean forced himself to turn around. Whatever or whoever it was there with him clearly did not come baring good intentions. This thing that spoke to him with a voice so soothing it was near frightening had venom dripping from its tongue. Willing himself to move, Jean faced the stranger. It was a man, not much taller or bigger in weight than him. Fair skinned with flaming auburn hair and dark brown eyes, the man was handsome but in an unsettling way that made him sick to his stomach. 'Evil,' his mind hissed instinctively. 'Stay away!'

"What's wrong kid?" the man inquired with a wicked grin. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Evil, evil, evil his mind screamed. "What are you?" Jean demanded.

Chuckling, the redhead pushed his hands into his jacket pockets. "You are a funny one, aren't you? Most humans ask 'who' instead of 'what'." Looking at Jean, the man dipped his head, lowering his gaze to something more intimidating. "You're an abnormal."

"What?"

"This'll be fun. I've never tasted someone like you before. I wonder if your energy will be any different from a regular human."

"You back the fuck up right now dude," Jean threatened as the guy took a couple steps in his direction. "I swear to God I'll beat your ass to shit if you get any closer."

"That's cute," he grinned, now looking genuinely amused at how "adorable" the human was behaving. "As much as I would like to take my time draining you, I'm in a bit of a bind and need your energy now so..."

Before Jean could react, the man had dashed to where he was standing, canines now protruding from his mouth like needles while his eyes flashed silver. However, the man never got a hold of the blonde because, just as quickly as the attacker had moved, another body blocked him from reaching his target. Looking up from his spot on the ground, Jean watched as Marco grabbed the man by the throat and threw him through the air; the redhead slamming back first into a tree with unforgiving force.

"Get up," Marco commanded, his voice like ice as he took Jean by the elbow and lifted him to his feet. Stepping in front of the blonde, he acted as a barrier between the two. "What the fuck are you doing out here this late?" he growled.

"I run every night. What the fuck are you doing? And what the fuck is that thing?!"

"I am not a thing," the man groaned as he got back up. "Humans are such inconsiderate things. Wouldn't you agree, Bott?"

"Fuck off Emory," Marco warned. "There's a burn notice out for you--"

"And you've come to collect me and what? Send me off to rehabilitation? Fuck you and fuck Erwin and your whole organization. You've done nothing to help me so I'm taking back control of my life."

"You really think you're in control? For fuck's sake, you've murdered countless innocent humans!"

"That's because it's what I do!" Emory laughed with an incredulous look. "I'm a vampyre you idiot! We kill humans, it's in our nature. Being forced to follow your rules and feed on animals does nothing for us. It's like asking a lion to eat plants."

"It's not the same," Marco insisted while pressing himself closer to Jean as Emory wander ever closer to them. "It's not and you know it."

"Yes, it is. I'm tired of living the FBSP's vegetarian lifestyle. I'm tired of reporting to you assholes whenever I want to do something and I'm really fucking tired of letting these weak bodied assholes walk all over me just because it gives their egos a boost."

"Don't do this Emory. You can--"

"Oh shut up Marco, I've had enough of your talking. I'm through with this bullshit and if freedom means killing you then I'll do it."

"And Levi?" the brunette posed. "What about him?"

Recoiling for the briefest moment, Emory snuffed out the trace of grief that flickered across his eyes. "Him too."

As the vampyre went to lunge at the two men--his snarl back and fangs as sharp as razors--a large feline of freakish proportions and appearance took him down. Biting into his neck with both massive front paws digging into his shoulders and chest, the creature pinned him to the ground; black smoke whirling around it like a dark flame. Shivering again, this time Jean felt sick enough to his stomach that he buckled over; his lungs heaving and his body convulsing. 'What the fuck is happening to me?!'

It was just as he had enough strength to look up that two more people appeared. The first was a petite woman with shocking blonde hair that looked like she could break him in half with ease. Flanked by what Jean could only assume was a panther, she marched over to the captive vampyre while removing a seven-tongue whip from a holster on her hip. Letting the lashes tap against the ground, she cracked it with frightening force as if to herald her arrival. And if that wasn't enough to chill his blood then the excited smirk on her lips was. However, she wasn't the one that had his body reacting so strongly and in such a negative way.

Right behind her was another familiar face. 'No fucking way,' Jean gawked as the dark-haired man that Eren had the hots for stepped forward; seeming to appear out of thin air from the fringes of the dark woods. Dressed in all black just like Marco and the woman, he approached the epicenter of the action with an unforgiving expression of indifference painted across his finely chiseled face. Swirling around his hands and arms was a white plasma that looked to be electrically charged. Humming and crackling as if it were alive, the vortex of energy wrapped around him up to his elbows and grew in abundance the closer it got to his fingertips.

Glancing to Jean, the young man felt that pang of fear when he saw the mans eyes. Instead of the usual mercurial grey, they were a fiendish white that glowed bright behind his thick black lashes. As if sensing the blonde's discomfort, the man quirked an eyebrow; the left corner of his lips curling just enough to form the ghost of a smile. He was frightening, Jean thought. Frightening because he was alluring and yet horrifying in the same moment. A baited trap ready to destroy its prey with a viciousness that couldn't be contained.

"Marco," spoke the man in a rich velvet smooth tone. "Get the brat out of here. We can't have him seeing this."

"You sure?" the brunette asked; not entirely too keen on leaving his two friends there with a riled up vampyre.

"I've got this under control. Take the kid to HR. Chances are if he can see this assholes' apparitions then he's an abnormal."

"Fine, he's all yours guys." Turning to Jean, Marco gave him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry 'bout this."

Before the blonde could question his next actions, the brunette whacked their heads together; effectively knocking Jean unconscious. Staring at him for a long moment as if he were appraising him, Marco shook the meddlesome thoughts from his head before lifting his hand up and opening a rift between time and space. Stepping inside the portal, he glanced over his shoulder one more time, wished his friends good luck, and then ducked inside the rift; the tear closing behind him as if it had never been there.

Looking back to Emory, Levi stared down at the man and placed his booted foot on his throat. "Now, what to do with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the short(er) chapter but this is where it wanted to end and I'm not one to force inspiration. But no worries, more is on its way!
> 
> -Mars


	4. Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean comes to terms with the reality of his peculiar situation, Marco has some trouble with his new ward, and something unexpected comes to pass...
> 
>  
> 
> GREETINGS MORTALS: Bonne soir and welcome to the fourth installment of Nighttime Coming! First off, I want to thank all my readers and those of you who have left such uplifting words of encouragement in the comment section. I honestly had no intentions of ever blowing the dust off of this story or of turning it into a fic but I'm glad I did because it's so much fun to write and even more fun to read your reactions and theories about the plot and characters. So thanks a million with a base/lower limit of infinity!
> 
> Secondly, I've had a few emails asking why I'm not staying entirely accurate i.e. men are witches and whatnot. Well, that's because there are so many takes on different supernatural creatures and folkloric beings that I want to cover them all so I may use the German take on werewolves while pulling inspiration for faeries from Scotland. I apologize if that doesn't jive with you but it's how I roll; well, that and because of Newton's first law. Eyyy! Bad Nerd Puns!

Jean laid at the bottom of the tub staring up at the ceiling as he recounted the previous evenings events. 'Marco's a witch,' he thought to himself; this being the fiftieth time he'd had to reaffirm himself that this wasn't the crazy talking. 'Marco's a witch, so is that freaky blonde woman, and Levi's a....grand wizard or some shit?' Closing his eyes, he let the warm water leach into his skin and pull the memory from him.  
\--x--x--x--  
Falling back in time, he remembered waking up in a panic only to find himself laying on a plush leather couch in what looked to be someone's office. Jumping up as if he had been slapped, Jean pressed into the cushions as he gasped for air. Across the room sitting atop his desk was Marco accompanied by some blonde man with neatly kept eyebrows and piercing glacial blue eyes. Convulsing almost immediately when the mans gaze landed on him, Jean scurried back into the farthest corner of the couch. Everything in his being told him to run; to flee before the strange man could hurt him.

"Well that answers that," Marco said with an almost chuckle as his eyes followed Jean. "So he is human."

"Seems he still has some sense of danger," the other man spoke.

"It would appear so. Guess he is an irregular."

"Stop talking as if I can't hear you!" Jean yelled; his voice cracking as the panic reached a new high. "Where the fuck am I and who are you people?!"

Before either could answer, Levi pushed open the door; the damn thing nearly flying off its hinges with the force. Clothes now covered in some strange black splatter that extended up to his neck, jaw, and face, he sneered under his breath while taking the towel from Marco's hand that had been offered to him. Slumping against the "window", he worked on cleaning himself off as a small black cat with pumpkin orange eyes followed him in. Hopping up onto the windowsill, it nudged his elbow lovingly then turned its gaze to glare at Jean.

Mere moments later, the blonde woman entered the office covered in the same black splattering. As she cleaned off the handle of her whip, the black panther that Jean had seen earlier that evening morphed into a flying fox almost as big as her that flapped over to the mounted coat rack where it mellowed out. Caught between disbelief and acceptance since he wasn't creative enough to dream this bullshit up, the young man looked back and forth between everyone present. This was more than a radioactive spider bite or some weird chemicals in the water. Either he was certifiably insane or this was all real. Coming down from a near panic attack, Jean tried to calm himself down and rationalize the situation.

"This has to be a dream," he mumbled to himself as he ran his hands through his hair; elbows propped on his knees as he looked between his feet for answers. "I hit my head on the trail and now I'm hallucinating."

"They always go straight for hallucinating," the woman snickered as she wiped off the last bit of black goo from her whip though she had yet to clean it off her face. "Is it an idiosyncrasy of theirs or something?"

"Nope," Jean breathed out. "Nope, this isn't a dream; this is real." Looking up with a look of confusion, albeit one more clear than before, he surveyed the people present, eyes landing on Marco who stood dead center just a few feet away from him. "Who are you?"

Glancing at the tall blonde to his left who nodded, Marco sighed. "We're the Federal Bureau of Supernatural and Paranormal Persons or 'FBSP' for short. "

"Supernatural and paranormal...?"

"Right."

"As in ghosts and goblins type of shit?"

Nodding from side to side, the brunette's face twisted as he tried to think of a better way to describe it. "Kinda, sorta. Goblins are more of a British thing than an American problem."

"Stay on track Marco," Levi chided him from where he was still reclining against the windowsill; now with both his arms folded across his chest.

"Anyways, we're the buffer between humans and the other seventy percent. We make sure that the paranaturals that can adjust to civilian life are looked after, monitor those who may go off the rails, and contain the ones that do before they can cause mass hysteria. Like I said, I like my job; just not always."

Absorbing it all, along with that last bit which drew him back to their conversation a few days ago, Jean was silent for another moment; collecting his thoughts before speaking so that he could say what he wanted without fumbling his words. There were so many things he wanted to ask. So much he wanted to know but there was something nagging him more than everything else. Looking back at Marco with fire sparking deep in the irises of his golden eyes, Jean steeled himself for any and all possible responses.

"Why is your face in my history book?" he said, his voice--for once--not wavering under pressure. "Does that have to do with this?"

Squaring his jaw as Levi cursed under his breath and the woman groaned, Marco dropped his head with a defeated sigh. "And here I thought you had forgotten about that."

"Does it?" Jean pressed.

"Yes," the brunette stated rather sharply. Lifting his gaze, he stared back at Jean with the same fire in his eyes. "Yes, it does."

Forcing a shiver back as it tried to race down his spine, the young man swallowed hard. "What are you?"

Wincing at the question as if it had burned him, Marco's lip curled in distaste. "Guess they never taught you proper etiquette in California."

"How did you--?"

"I'm a witch," Marco injected; saying the words nonchalantly as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "I'm a witch and so is Levi and Kat," he continued as he motioned to his teammates. "The reason why my face is in your textbook is because I was a member of the Grey's special operations battalion or the 104th division."

"And you?" the young man asked while jerking his chin toward the tall blonde. "You a witch too?"

Chuckling darkly, the man shook his head. "Not in the least. My name is Erwin though and that's all you get. Now listen carefully at what I'm about to tell you because, from here on out, you are under our supervision."

"What?! Like hell I am! I'm not like you so why--?!"

"You're more like us than you care to believe," Levi stated flatly. "You've seen things, heard things, experienced things no other human has. Not any normal human at least."

"You're an irregular," Erwin said matter-of-factly. "As such, that puts you at risk. You aren't strictly human but you aren't a paranatural either. You're something in between which is why you can see apparitions and other paranatural beings. If you are left unprotected then it would only be a matter of time until something tries to harm you. Irregulars like you possesses a special type of energy that is twice as potent as a human or paranatural which is why the vampyre you encountered tonight tried to attack you. Until we can figure out exactly what abilities you possesses you have to remain under the care of one of our agents."

"And if I refuse?" Jean countered.

Lips curling, Kat snorted a laugh. "Then you get swallowed up whole by some hideous troll or ghoul."

Knowing that there wasn't an ounce of exaggeration in her words, the young man swallowed hard. "This can't be happening," he whispered to himself, his hands once more raking through his hair. Looking up, he glanced between them all. "You're being serious right now?"

Shaking his head, Erwin smirked. "Luckily for you, you don't have to relocate since you already live within the boarders of a monitored ward."

Eyes going wide, Marco whipped his head to the side. "Don't you dare."

"Marco, meet the newest edition to your registry," Erwin said, not paying a single thought to the brunettes threat. Pushing away from the desk, he unfolded his arms and reached for the doorknob. "I expect all the proper paperwork finished and on my desk before you leave tonight."  
\--x--x--x--  
Yelling under the water as bubbles raced toward the surface, Jean screamed out his frustration. Just the memory of what had happened pissed him off and he didn't fully understand why that was. If he had been this way all his life, why hadn't they found him sooner? And how did they know about the time he had spent in California?! Had they been watching him all along, just waiting for something to happen? 'What the fuck is going on?!' he growled as he sat up; water sloshing around him in the tub.

Sinking back against the porcelain wall of the clawed-foot tub, the young man rested his head against the edge; eyes once more stuck staring up at the ceiling. He wished he knew what was happening; why it was happening and if it was good or bad. Now part of some registry of paranaturals and irregulars under Marco's care, Jean would have to endure weekly check-in's from the guy or daily visits if he deemed it fitting. Before today, the idea of seeing the guy more often and at his own place of residence would have had Jean over the moon. But in this situation, he was less ecstatic. In fact, he felt borderline murderous for being toyed with while they gathered their data.

With a scowl painting his features, Jean pulled the plug to let the water drain while he reached for a towel. Stepping out of the tub, he dried off, slipped into his boxers and dark navy blue sleeping pants before exiting the bathroom. Padding down the hallway to his room, he closed the door behind him then, with a groan, fell face first into the heap of blankets, sheets, and fluffy pillows. Jean curled onto his side, bringing his knees to his chest while burying his face in the soft wool plaid throw blanket he usually draped over his shoulders whenever he was reading in bed. Taking a deep breath then releasing it through his nose, the blonde was slowly able to calm himself down.

"It's not the end of the world," he groaned aloud. "It's not the end of the world. Everything will be alright." Laying there in silence for a moment longer, he sighed. "Fuck this."

\----------------------------------------------------------------

The level of irritation clouding the air of Marco's office was palpable as he glared down at Jean's file; brows knitting together in frustration. He had a feeling that there was something different about the guy but this? This was too much. Picking up the top page, he reread the information for the fifth time that evening. After various tests, they had loosely pegged what kind of irregular Jean was. It'd figure he'd be a rare type. It was the only way he could have gone undetected by not just Marco but everyone in his branch. They weren't tuned in to his frequency since it had been a century since the last human that was registering at the level.

NAME: Jean Pascal Kirstein----SEX: Male  
DOB: 04/07/19xx---AGE: 26  
HEIGHT: 180.30 cm--WEIGHT: 72.12 kg---BLOOD TYPE: AB-  
BIRTHPLACE: Chapel Hill, NC--TIME: 05:35 a.m.  
EYE COLOR: Amber---SKIN: Fair  
HAIR: Light Blonde  
PARENTS: Genevieve Louisa Pascal (alive), Gabe Mathias Kirstein (deceased)  
RACE: Human---SUBGROUP: Irregular/Abnormal  
CLASSIFICATION: IR--IDENTIFICATION #: IR-001305  
DISTRICT: CH-NC-30---WARDEN: Marco L. V. Bott  
FBSP PHYLUM: Ambient/Seer; potential sensor  
SKILL/ABILITY: capable of seeing past projected paranatural glamours; sees/converses with denizens; possible planes walker; shows no signs of genetic interference  
ELEMENTAL (mark 'yes' or 'no'): ___ yes----X no.....(skip following three questions if answered 'no')  
\--ELEMENT TYPE: n/a  
\--LATENT (mark 'yes' or 'no'): ___yes---X no  
\--FAMILIAR TYPE/NAME: n/a  
\--COUNTRY OF ORIGIN: n/a  
UNDEAD (mark 'yes' or 'no'): ___yes----X no.....(skip following three questions if answered 'no')  
\--TYPE: n/a  
\--DARKLING TYPE/NAME (if apply): n/a  
\--DATE OF LAST INFECTION OUTBREAK: n/a  
WITCH (mark 'yes' or 'no'): ____yes----X no.....(skip following five questions if answered 'no')  
\--CASTING TYPE: n/a  
\--FAMILIAR TYPE/NAME: n/a  
\--PARENT COVEN: n/a  
\--REGISTRATION #: n/a  
\--INTERNATIONAL REGISTRATION #: n/a  
SENSOR (mark 'yes' or 'no'): X yes----___no....(skip following four questions if answered 'no')  
\--SENSORY TYPE: sight/sound  
\--ENERGY LEVEL: low-high; unpredictable/erratic  
\--RESTING FREQUENCY: high  
\--ACTIVE FREQUENCY: unknown  
NOTES: currently suffers from night terrors that may be the result of unintentional astral projection. Has the capabilities of a high energy type ambient seer but lacks resistance to projected aura from other paranaturals.

Marco stared at the notes section feeling his stomach knot up. It had been over a hundred years since the last human seer and even longer since one with the capabilities of astral projection. And while Jean's ability to walk between the planes was still up for debate, the brunette had more than a hunch that he possessed the rare skill; it would make sense given the vivid "nightmares" and his inability to sleep soundly. Gazing into the eyes of the young mans photograph, Marco knew that this was only the beginning of a whole new brand of trouble. He usually didn't handle humans; had lost his patience for them eons ago. But Erwin was adamant about him overseeing Jean's case and while he wasn't one to shy away from challenging authority, Marco would rather not tempt the hand of a reaper.

Petting Barron who had curled up on his lap a little bit ago after polishing off the minced smoked salmon in his dish, the brunette reclined back in his padded leather desk chair. With his gaze fixed on the ceiling, he tried connecting the dots in Jeans file. Something was missing and it was causing enough of a disruption that other high energy denizens had noticed. 'He's gotta be a walker,' he thought quietly. 'It's the only thing that makes sense.' Or the young man could be a latent elemental. Those were equally hard to peg and, before the nineteen-seventies, the FBSP didn't recognize them as a phylum. Yet if that were the case, his elemental type would have presented during the altercation between him and Jacobson when the vampyre made an attempt on his life.

'I could always just find out for myself,' Marco mused; somehow finding the thought of catching the kid off guard at this hour to be totally hilarious. "What do you think Barron? Should we pay our newest ward a visit?" When the feline licked its lips, the brunette had his answer.

Rising from the desk chair in his home office, Marco wandered into the bedroom across the hall and two doors down. Waving his hand in the direction of the lights, they came on; the illumination being bright enough to make him squint for a brief moment. Normally, Marco would have been in bed by seven since he had work at 2:30 a.m. every day. Well, everyday excluding Sundays since it was bad luck to work on Sundays. Luckily, the FBSP was technically a branch of the government which meant Sundays were mandatory work-free days. However, that aside, Marco felt an indescribable draw to check in on his newest ward. Blame the shiver rolling like a steam train up his spine or the sense of unease he had while staring at Jean's photo. Whatever it was compelling him into action, he had no intention of fighting it. His mother had always told him his intuition was his strongest ally and she hadn't been wrong thus far.

Slipping into his favorite cream henley, navy blue hoodie, and black slim jeans, he tugged on a pair of faded maroon low-top converse knowing that he would be doing some climbing if there was anything out of sorts. He didn't want to get into any fights or altercations but thought he'd be better off wearing comfortable clothes in the off-chance something happened. Zipping up his jacket, Marco grabbed his badge--tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans--then flicked the lights off as he left. Smiling as Barron morphed into a beautiful barn owl, they left the house, Marco pocketing his keys before the door locked behind them.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jean couldn't escape the monster in his dreams no matter what he did. Running through the distorted halls of his home that had been twisted out of sorts by the dream he was trapped in, he choked on the air his lungs heaved in. Twenty feet behind him, the creature was chasing after him; having shed its freakishly beautiful skin to show its true colors. Stumbling into the kitchen pantry, he closed the door behind him; throwing his whole weight against it to keep the monster away.

Quieting as he heard the rapid tapping of the creatures ten spindly legs prattle across the kitchen floor, Jean closed his eyes, held his breath, and tried not to scream when he heard its melodic humming as it attempted to lure him out of his hiding spot. He could see the shadow it cast on the tile as it moved back in forth through the space singing--changing pitches, tones, and voices in hopes of landing on one that would trick the young man evading it.

"Sweetheart," it cooed in a voice similar to his mothers. "Honey, it's time to stop playing. You're worrying me Jean. Please come out." When he didn't answer, it swapped to the voice of his father who had been dead for ten years. "Jean, you're frightening your mother. Be a good boy and stop this right now. Jean..."

Exhaling quietly as the creature left the kitchen, he waited until he could no longer hear it before opening the pantry door. Stepping deeper into the cooking space, he reached for one of the medium sized knives in the cutting block. Jean wasn't sure what good it would do against something like that monster but it was better than nothing at all. Tip-toeing around the island in the center of the kitchen--intentionally overstepping the tricky tiles that squeaked whenever someone walked over them--the young man froze in place when he heard the familiar prattling of multiple legs; yet this time they didn't come from the floor.

Snaking along the ceiling above him with its centipede-like body, the monster crawled into the kitchen; hovering above him as it craned its humanoid torso down. Breaths becoming shaky, he turned around just in time to see it pull up right next to him. No more did it hide behind an almost angelic form. Instead he was confronted with a sallow gaunt faced woman from the waist up with long black wet hair and spiderlike arms with chipped nails that looked like they were bleeding where they protruded from her fingers.

Those cold shriveled hands reached out as she looked at him with soulless black eyes and smiled. "Jean," the monster said in his mothers voice. "Won't you come home dear? We all miss you back home."

"No," he shook his head trying to get away from her. When she hissed, he yelled, "Get away from me!"

With an upward slash of the blade, he cut her across the face--revealing what could only be surmised to the face of a demon. Petrified with fear, he watched as it writhed in pain; its clawed hands holding its face as the creature shrieked like a banshee. 'Move you idiot!' he heard a voice that wasn't his own tell him to run. Following its heed, he turned and ran right as the monster lurched for him; black acidic blood dripping from its gaping wound.

As he bolted for the stairs, a black swallowtail butterfly with blue and yellow spotting fluttered up alongside him. Another appeared followed by another and another until a brood of twenty or so were trailing him. Uncaring of what it all meant, Jean ran into his room, locked the door then turned to see himself still asleep in his bed surrounded by black swallowtails. Staring at the sight for a moment, trying to understand what the insects were doing there, he was jolted from his reverie when the monster slammed against the bedroom door. It hissed, shrieked, and wailed as it clawed at the wooden entry. Using different voices each time it made a demand, there were moments when the creature would slip up and use its real tone; a mixture somewhere between haggard and harpy.

"Come on Jean, wake up" he said to himself as he gripped his sleeping self's shoulders and shook them; the butterflies now swarming around them in a column. Across the room the knob jiggled and the door heaved as the monster pressed against it harder. "Wake the fuck up! You're going to kill us!!"

It was as he yelled the last point that the door flew open and the creature let out a shrill blood curdling scream as it lunged for him. Yet as it did, the winged insects turned and swarmed the fiend. Growling and shrieking as they picked at its face, Jean watched in a total state of shock as the docile butterflies attacked the monster. As he did, the blonde was caught off guard by the opening of the bedroom window right next to his bed. Glancing between the fiend that was slowly being ripped apart by a swarm of black butterflies and the noise to his right, he was gobsmacked to see Marco enter his room.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Marco could feel the a disturbance in the astral planes the moment he stepped foot outside his door. Someone was using magic and quite a bit of it to be causing that massive of a rift. Spotting a black spicebush swallowtail followed by another and another then five more, his brows furrowed as he reached out to touch one. Recoiling the moment the insect nipped him on the fingertip, he knew in that moment that one of two events was occurring. Either a newly claimed witch was being attacked or it was a latent elemental being harassed and their familiar was coming to protect them.

Watching the butterflies for a moment, the brunette slowly began to follow them when he noticed that they were going deeper into the ward. Running now, the chill that had been gnawing at his spine intensified. Dark magic pooling at his fingertips and eyes humming with a violet ring at the center, it was as if his powers knew there was trouble before he did. The tension twisting in his gut grew from block to block before pitching when he turned onto a familiar street. Following the butterflies up the garden path of the quaint brick home covered in ivy, Marco panted heavily as he looked up at the two open windows the insects were floating into.

"You have got to be joking," he breathed.

\------------------------------------------------------

"Marco?!" Jean exclaimed when the brunette climbed in through his bedroom window. However, when the blonde tried to touch the man his hand went straight through. "What the fuck? Marco, can you hear me?!"

Jean watched as the man looked around with expression that said he had heard his voice but still couldn't see him. Yet, just because he couldn't see the young man that didn't mean Marco couldn't see the monster in the room that was being torn to shreds by a swarm of furious swallowtails. Magic crackling at his fingertips, he lifted his hand to incinerate the fiend that was undoubtedly the cause of Jean's torment right as it lunged for him. However, as the dark energy swirled in his palm, a ghostly outline of an unseen figure screamed his name. As it did, a bright light erupted from within it; hitting him with such force it slammed him against the wall. 

Consciousness waning as his eyes fluttered, Marco found himself slumped against the panel beneath the window next to Jeans bed. Everything hurt and his back felt as if he had been hurled against a brick wall. Chances were that he had dislocated something; maybe even fractured a rib or two but nothing too bad. However, as he regained his faculties six or so butterflies landed on his legs, his bent knee, his shoulders, cheek, and atop his head. Wincing when he felt one prodding at the wound near the back of his head--likely from the window when he was thrown against it--he almost lifted a hand to smack the thing away until he realized that it was mending the cut. 

Hissing between his teeth as the butterflies mended the cuts and bumps and soothed the bruises before they could form, he could not help but notice the warm serene feeling he was suddenly filled with. Moments before when the monster had lunged at him, he was ready to defend himself; filled with an unspeakable dread as whatever the creature was came for him. That fear grew when he lifted his hand with his dark magic crackling in between his fingers then vanished the moment the pulse of pure energy erupted between him and the creature. Something had stopped it from attacking him; almost as if he had been "saved" by something or someone. Now, he felt safe as if her were being held in the arms of his mother once more. He didn't understand why but the magic pooling around him was loving, comforting, and welcoming. 

As the butterflies were finishing their mending, he heard Jean gasp lightly in the bed two feet away. Crowded around him like living flower petals were the other four or five dozen swallowtails; all unmoving as if they waiting for him to awaken. Grunting when he rose to his feet, Marco approached the bed making sure that he didn't pose any threat to the insects' slumbering master. Looking down at him, the brunette couldn't remember ever seeing a more beautiful sight. 

Framed by the black and blue winged creatures with one perched atop his crown and another on his shoulder and right hand, Jean was more lovely than any picture that had ever been painted; the stars in the heavens above paling in comparison to his ethereal allure. Skin the purest shade of milky white, hair a glittering halo of pale gold, and lips a soft rose, it felt as if Marco had been robbed of all the air in his lungs; even more so when the young mans lashes fluttered open to reveal his jeweled amber eyes encircled in the center by a ring of pale blue. 'Beautiful,' the brunette thought as he gazed into the swirling pools of enchanting gold, the blue ring fading faster with every passing second. 'He's perfect.'

Reaching up to gently touch Marco's cheek, he smiled dreamily with a sigh of relief. "What are you doing in here? Pretty faces don't mix with nightmares."

Resolve breaking, Marco leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. "You aren't asleep Jean."

"Says the man who lied about being a witch," the blonde chuckled as his fingers wandered over the curve of Marco's jawline. "You're a lot nicer in my dreams. I wish...you could always be...this..."

Before he could finish his sentence, Jean fell back asleep. Clearly, the exertion of his claiming had exhausted him; it was a feeling Marco remembered quite well from when it had happened to him a couple hundred years ago. Yet, as he continued admiring Jean's excruciatingly beautiful appearance, reality dawned on him. The butterflies coming to his aid, the glowing blue ring around the centers of his eyes, the pulse of light that erupted from the center of what looked like empty space... Jean wasn't just a rare breed of human. No, he was more than that; rarer if Marco could believe it. Asleep before him was the rarest type of caster in existence; one so scarce, his coven joked that they had all died off during the last witch hunt.

He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it firsthand; hadn't seen the butterflies at rest around him in a protective ring. Hadn't seen the energy release from where the young mans soul had most likely been standing on the astral plane. Hadn't seen the heavenly blue rings in his eyes that only added to his beauty. Jean was a witch; a latent one but still a caster. Moreover, he was a white witch. It was why his familiar presented itself in such a docile form and why his energy type was pure white. The last time Marco had come face to face with a white witch, it was at the end of the eighteenth century in Germany. She had been caught by the local authorities, bound by the wrists, and put up against a brick wall where she was executed.

Tracing the outline of Jean's face lightly with his knuckles then fingertips, he studied the mans peaceful expression. Staring at those soft lips for a second longer, he leaned in and kissed them again; this time savoring the smoothness of them and how warm they felt against his own. Jean really was trouble. Not because of what he was or for the fact that now he had to refile all of his paperwork but because the man was making him feel things he hadn't felt in over eighty years. Things that would only lead to heartache and pain. For a brief moment, Marco felt human again and in his line of work that was a very dangerous feeling.

Lips still hovering over Jeans, the brunette trailed down to the young mans ear where he brushed the sensitive skin of his jaw. Swallowing hard, he let go of a shuddering sigh when the blonde stirred beneath him; their cheeks rubbing together gently in the process. Cupping the side of Jean's face, Marco looked down at him with pained eyes.

"I wish I'd never met you," Marco said softly with one last kiss before he took a step back. Joined by Barron on his shoulder, the brunette squared his jaw then turned to open up a rift beside him. "Come on Barry. We've got some paperwork to fill out."

With one last glance to Jean, Marco left and the room was silent once more; filled by the stillness of moonlight dancing across the floor and butterflies fluttering through the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you can tell by now, trouble just seems to follow Jean wherever he goes. There's been a lot of speculation as to whether he's a medium, a psychic, a magic-user, etc. And, as you have all read, he is one of those and most definitely a trouble magnet. There's just something about him that attracts the weirdies. So in honor of this, I decided to post his official character song for this fic. It's no surprise really; well, I don't think it should be. LoL. Here, from me to you, is Jean's anthem.
> 
>  
> 
> "TROUBLE"  
> by Cage The Elephant
> 
>  
> 
> Oh
> 
> We were at the table by the window, the view  
> Casting shadows, the sun was pushing through  
> Spoke a lot of words, I don't know if I spoke the truth
> 
> Got so much to lose  
> Got so much to prove  
> God don't let me lose my mind
> 
> Trouble on my left, trouble on my right  
> I've been facing trouble almost all my life  
> My sweet love, won't you pull me through?  
> Everywhere I look I catch a glimpse of you  
> I said it was love and I did it for life (did-did it for you)
> 
> Oh
> 
> We will come to pass, will I pass the test?  
> You know what they say, yeah  
> The wicked get no rest  
> You can have my heart, any place, any time
> 
> Got so much to lose  
> Got so much to prove  
> God don't let me lose my mind
> 
> Trouble on my left, trouble on my right  
> I've been facing trouble almost all my life  
> My sweet love, won't you pull me through?  
> Everywhere I look I catch a glimpse of you  
> I said it was love and I did it for life (did-did it for you)
> 
> Got so much to lose  
> Got so much to prove  
> God don't let me lose my mind


	5. Stranger Than Fiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean comes to terms with his new classification as a witch, meets his familiar, has a conversation with Marco and gets to know his warden better...
> 
>  
> 
> Bonne Soir!: Salut ma petite mignons! Tu vas ca va? Ahhh, can you smell that? Nothing like the crisp scent of mystery, romantic tension, and fantasy in the morning. Welcome to the fifth installment of Nighttime Coming! Now that the ball is finally rolling here, get ready for some action and new characters that'll be coming your way pretty soon. I know everyone is looking forward to the romantic development between Marco and Jean but, be warned, it's going to get worse before it gets better. Chances are some of you are going to want to kick Marco's ass (and mine for that matter) before he comes around but that's fine; that's what I'm aiming for.
> 
> SECONDLY! I will be going back and editing the chapters for continuity errors. I accidentally wrote that Marco is 254 years old, when if fact he is 185 years old. Sorry! Also, be sure to check out the end notes for a fun little addition to the story.
> 
> Anyways, sit back and enjoy this latest chapter of Nighttime Coming.
> 
> A tout a l'heure!
> 
> -Mars<3

The early morning sun broke through the white muslin curtains pulled across Jean's bedroom windows--scattering its ray of dreamy golden light across the floor and bed. Shifting with a small groan, the blonde rolled onto his side with a soft sigh. He hadn't slept so soundly in months that it was near criminal to ask him to tear himself away from such a blissful state. Yet, when he finally did crack his eyes open, there was a distinct difference in the area around him. Jean could put his finger on it, but something about the room was different; the air felt lighter and everything looked brighter as if he were still caught in a dream.

Propping himself up on one elbow, the blonde cracked his neck while rubbing the short hairs of his undercut with his free hand. After a long lazy yawn, he glanced around the open space as a gentle morning breeze blew in carrying with it autumns first chill. Shivering slightly, he turned to see what time it was. Brows knitting together in confusion, he was surprised to see a single black spicebush swallowtail butterfly resting atop the alarm clock.It was strange that the creature would be there after having and even stranger dream in which he was saved from the monster by a flock of that particular species of butterfly.

Quietly without making any noise, Jean extended his hand toward the beautiful insect; his index finger and thumb brought together to form a point for it. Half an inch away from the butterfly, he stopped moving. He couldn't stop the smile tugging at his lips when the creature crawled onto his hand after first inspecting it. As a child, Jean used to run around the forests and meadows outside his uncles farm. There, he'd chase after spicebush swallowtails thinking that they'd lead him to some fairy world like they did in the storybooks his mother would read him before bed. His dream was to one day catch one and keep it as a pet but they always flew away before he could capture it.

Chuckling as it flew away, he made no attempt to pluck it from the air. Jean knew better than to chase such whimsical creatures. Not only were they short-lived, but butterflies belonged out in the wild; something he had learned early on though with great sadness. Smile still there when he saw it perch atop the crown molding bordering his closet, the young man rose from bed feeling more energized than he had in years. 'Amazing what a full eight hours of sleep will do,' he thought to himself as he entered the long walk-in closet.

Yet as he passed by the full length mirror that was mounted on the closet door, something about the image reflected back caught him off guard. While a good night's rest undoubtedly gave one energy and some pep in the step, the person Jean saw staring back at him was far different from what he was used to seeing. His face was without flaw or blemish and seemed to glow in the morning sunlight. Gone were the bags under his eyes, the few breakouts from being so stressed out, and the dull complexion to his skin. Left in their wake was perfection added to by the intensity of his amber eyes. Not only were they more honey gold in their appearance that morning but there was a faint silvery ring in the center of each iris that he hadn't noticed before.

"What the fuck?" Jean murmured as he eyed himself up and down. 

He hadn't looked this good in years. There wasn't any way a little bit of sleep could have down this. There weren't enough beauty products, makeup artists, and hours of sleep in the world that could accomplish this. Something was going on and part of him had a sneaking suspicion that there was magic involved. Maybe he had been put under some kind of spell. Or perhaps he was still asleep. 'Maybe it's an out of body experience?' he thought. However, that idea was dashed from the list when he glanced over his shoulder and didn't see himself laying in his bed. 'Okay, so this is really me. What the fuck.'

Narrowing his eyes at the image in the mirror, he poked the reflection with a "hmm", shrugged when nothing happened, and proceed to get ready for the day. Slipping into his favorite dark wash slim blue jeans, he tugged on a navy tee shirt with a bear on it roaring with a whisky bottle in its hand. Above the bear were the words "Don't Feed The Hipsters!" Tying the laces of his cherry red low-tops he then cuffed his jeans twice, pulled on his dark green, grey, and white geometric wool cardigan, and secured his tried and true charcoal grey beanie over his hair that, oddly enough, wasn't a total mess that morning. Swapping his silver studs for a pair of onyx ones, Jean grabbed his messenger bag and headed downstairs. However, as he turned the corner into the kitchen, his mood plummeted.

There, standing in the dining area attached to the kitchen was Marco, Levi, that Erwin guy, and, oddly enough, Professor Hanji. Accompanying them was Eren and Armin--both of who looked as guilty as a child caught sneaking cookies out of the cookie jar by their parents. It didn't help that the moment Jean made eye contact with his friends that they bit their lips--at the same time no less!--but they also looked away as if he had just walked in on a private conversation he wasn't supposed to hear. Taking a step forward, he glanced between them, then Erwin, Levi, and then Marco who refused to lift his gaze from the floor.

"Mornin' kiddo!" Hanji beamed, her usual cheeriness cutting through the awkwardness of the situation. "You look like you slept well."

"Yeah..." Jean said absentmindedly as he watched Marco shift against the counter he was leaning against. "Quick question, what the fuck are all of you doing here? Except for Armin and Eren I mean. What is this, some kind of intervention?"

Smiling awkwardly, Hanji chuckled. "About that...think of us as your welcome party."

"Welcome party? What fucking welcome par--"

"It's too fucking early for this shit," Levi groaned in frustration as he pinched the bridge of his nose with both eyes screwed shut. "Erwin, please stop her and cut to the chase. It's been a shitty week and I haven't slept in eighteen fucking hours."

Looking to the taller blonde, Jean noticed something in his gaze shift. There was something big going on, something that involved him and, for reasons unbeknownst to him, it was a big deal. All of them looked as nervous as the electoral committee during an election year. But Erwin, the guy with the ridiculous eyebrows, seemed to be more uneasy than everyone else; well, everyone except for Jean. Call it a hunch, but the expression he was wearing told the young man that he didn't believe a word of what he was about to say.

Clearing his throat and squaring his jaw, Erwin appraised Jean before saying a single word. "It would appear that our earlier assessments were incorrect. You aren't just an irregular with sensory abilities. Actually, it appears that you're a white witch."

Eyes wide with disbelief, Jean laughed. "And you're a hairy wizard. Seriously guys, cut the crap and tell me what this is really about." When no one spoke--only stared at him--the smile slowly faded from his face. "I'm being serious, knock it off. Eren, tell them they're crazy."

Flattening his lips into a fine line, Eren shook his head. "Sorry Jean."

Scoffing, the blonde looked to Armin. "Arm, you can't believe this shit. I mean, I don't even know how you're staying calm with all this crazy talk to begin with but...but you can't... Don't tell me that you're--"

"Armin and Eren are both registered irregulars," Levi finished Jean's sentence for him. "And your professor has been a conduit for the FBSP for the past fifteen years. She has kept a close eye on you since your arrival four months ago. At first, we thought you were an irregular like Arlert and Jaeger. However, after last night, well, things have changed."

"What the fuck? Wait, Armin, Eren, you guys are part of this crazy organization? Why didn't you tell me?!"

"It's not just something we're allowed to talk about Jean," Eren snapped indignantly. "Besides, we were asked to monitor you when your nightmares started affecting the astral plain. Weird shit was going on and it all came back to you and your dreams."

"I can't believe this. This has to be a hallucination or some--"

"For fucks sake, it's not in your head!" Levi snapped, his patience for the day gone leaving only annoyance behind. "You're a witch whether you want to be or not. Last night, Marco went to check on you after he sensed a rift in the plains and spotted a trail of butterflies heading toward your home. When he got to your house, there was a beldam trying to devour your soul. But before he could do anything, those butterflies attacked and a massive energy pulse burst out of you. That's something only high level white witches can pull off and we haven't seen something like that in a while."

"W-What...?"

"Yeah, I'm just as shocked as you kid but facts are facts. So shut the fuck up and listen to us."

Staring at Levi for a moment longer, Jean turned to Marco who had been silent the whole time. "Marco, is this true?"

Sighing, the brunette lifted his gaze from the floor. The look in his eyes was enough to knock the wind out of Jean. Caught somewhere between remorse and with a little bit of something else, the brunette looked at him as if his world had just been crushed. The slight smile on his pillowy lips did nothing to lessen the effect. It was as if looking at Jean pained the man; brought him immeasurable agony that forced his words to still in his throat. 

Thinking back to the night before, Jean began to wonder how much of it had actually happened and what was just a figment of his imagination. Was any of it fake? Was any of it real? Vaguely, he could recall what happened after the butterflies fought off the beldam. Licking his lips when the hazy image of Marco hovering over him with such a tender smile, he felt his chest squeeze when he felt the tingling of another's lips ghost over his; the memory alone being enough to send a shiver down his spine.

"Marco...?"

"It's true," Marco said plainly though his eyes were screaming volumes louder of what this meant. "You're a white witch Jean."

The world spiraled away from Jean in that moment. 'I'm a witch? What?!' Looking from Eren to Armin then to Marco and Levi, he could see the expressions on their faces. This wasn't a joke. All of them were being dead serious with him but he couldn't take what they were saying as fact even if it were to save his life. Never in a million--a billion even!--years would he have guessed that about himself. There was no evidence. Sure, he liked animals and always seemed to attract them whenever he would play in the forest as a kid. And once or twice, maybe a couple of butterflies had followed him around the garden but...but... 

Stopping his train of thought there as he reflected back on certain distant memories that seemed to be more of a dream than reality, the young man could feel the pieces falling into place. In that moment, he fell back in time to that one golden afternoon when he had ventured too far out into the woods and had lost his way. However, just when he had begun to panic, Jean stumbled upon a tall tree in the middle of the wood that had been reduced to a twenty foot stump that had been hollowed out. Covering it were thousands of black swallowtail butterflies. Smiling when one landed on him, he tried to catch it. When it dodged his grasp, he turned around and chased after it, followed by a procession of butterflies. What seemed like only moments later, Jean entered the clearing by his uncles house and the fluttering insects had vanished.

Swallowing hard on the bundle of nerves that had begun to form in his throat, the blonde looked up. 'No way...' There wasn't any way. There just couldn't, could there. Magic was supposed to run in families and his family was the most normal of all norms. His father was an officer--was shot years ago when he tried taking some homicidal whack job down during a bank robbery. And his mother was a nurse. If he were a white witch one of them would have had to have passed it on to him.

Without saying another word, Jean turned around, walked upstairs, and slammed the door shut. For a minute, the others stood in silence wondering what they should do next. They knew they had to get him down to the FBSP but he was too edgy right now to talk to. Chances were he'd take a swing at the next person that rubbed him the wrong way; that much both Eren and Armin knew. So there they stood listening to the grass grow.

"Well," Hanji spoke first, "that went better than I expected."

"Hey glasses," Levi groused. When she looked at him he frowned. "Shut up."

"Well sorry for trying to be optimistic about how shitty this situation is."

"Both of you knock it off," Erwin snapped. Exhaling a sigh, the man rubbed both hands over his face then combed them through his hair. "Someone has to go up there and talk to him." Pausing when Eren snorted a laugh, Erwin folded his arms across his chest and arched a single immaculate brow. "Sorry but I fail to see what's so funny about that statement Jaeger."

"Of course you wouldn't because you don't understand people," Eren chuckled. Taking a sip from his 'Good Morning Asshole' coffee mug, he sat down on one of the dining room chairs. "Jean's freaking out right now. You forget, he's not just some ward of yours. He's a college student working his ass off to pay for rent while juggling a full-time schedule. He hasn't gotten a good nights sleep in God knows how long and now you guys are dumping this shit on him. If anyone tries talking to him right now, you're gonna get decked. I'm surprised he hasn't snapped yet to be honest."

"Then what do you suggest?" Levi asked, his voice taking on a softer tone as he leaned against the back of Eren's chair--looking down into the young mans honest green eyes. "We can't just leave him like that."

"Give him time to come around. This is a lot to process and he's the kind of person that analyzes every tiny detail before coming to a conclusion."

"Alright," Erwin huffed as he pushed away from the doorpost he had been perched against. "How much time?"

"Half a day." Rolling his eyes when Erwin sighed with disappointment, Eren clicked his tongue as if to tell the man to stop fussing. "Seriously, that's not a long time for what you guys are asking of him. Just wait until three o'clock and--"

Eren stopped mid-sentence when Jean's bedroom door opened then slammed shut upstairs. Listening as the footsteps got louder, he watched his friend come down wearing his running gear. Clearly he had decided against going to class that afternoon; not that Eren could blame him. Breezing past them in silence with his headphones in, Jean ignored everyone as he opened the fridge, grabbed a small water bottle, ate a couple grapes, and then closed the door. Walking through the dining room, he glanced over his shoulder and removed an earphone.

"Don't follow me," he threatened, eyes darting between Levi, Erwin, and Marco; lingering on the brunette for a second longer than the others.

With that, the young man exited the house, closing the front door with more force than was necessary to drive his point home.

Sighing again, Erwin placed his hands on his hips. "Well fuck."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Running as far away from home as he could, Jean shut out the world around him. Just the trail ahead, the sun, and trees standing tall beside him existed in that moment. As far as he was concerned, the only magic that existed was the majesty of nature and how it continued to persist in the face of humankind's destructive forces. This was all that made sense to him. This was the only truth. Everything else was some fabricated mess created by man to explain away basic facts.

Taking the path leading deeper into the woods, he cranked up the volume, mouthing along to "I See Fire" by Ed Sheeran. Stepping onto the old lake trail, Jean could finally breathe easily. Smiling as the sun licked at his skin in between colossal trees--reaching out like tiny hands from heaven--he stretched his legs further and increased his stride with ease. With a laugh he hopped off a rock and pushed one foot against a tree trunk as he turned the corner. The world was so alive that morning and nothing was going to keep him down. So with a song in his heart and a spring in his step, he ran away from his worries and followed the sirens call drawing him to the lake.

As he raced along the wooded path, leaves trailed behind him like feathers floating in the wind. With every step, the compacted ground beneath him sprouted grass and flowers for a brief moment before dying when it lost contact with him. In his wake flew ladybugs, dragonflies, and golden June bugs. Alongside him fluttered two then three spicebush swallowtail butterflies followed by four more that flew in front of him and above him like a halo.

Looking over his shoulder after noticing the swallowtails, Jean laughed when he saw the critters following close behind. Here he was trying to escape reality and yet he was confronted by it in the most subtle ways nature was capable of. Shaking his head, Jean relented. If this proved he was a witch then maybe he was. Maybe it wasn't so bad if he had control or companionship over the mellow flora and fauna hanging out in the forest. 'Well at least I'm the good kind of witch, right?' the blonde reconciled with himself. From what he knew from his studies, white witches were healers using the lighter of magics to cast their spells and tend to those in need. 'At least I'm not a dark witch or whatever they call them.'

Spotting the clearing up ahead, Jean used the last bit of his energy to sprint toward the exit. With a plume of dancing leaves, June bugs, and butterflies following him, he burst into the clearing; the trail of creatures and flora swirling in the air behind him as the energy surrounding him slowly calmed down. Breaths coming in heavy ragged pants, Jean held himself up with his hands placed firmly on his shaking knees. Staring down at the ground, he inhaled, held the air in his lungs for a long moment, then exhaled before repeating the process. When he looked up, there was a lone red fox sitting at the lakes edge, staring at him with knowing eyes. Over it danced three spicebush swallowtails like a crown atop its head.

Glancing over his shoulder, Jean turned back to see the fox was still staring at him; now with its mouth open giving it a goofy smile. Deciding to play along with the "you're a witch" bit, he straightened out and approached the animal though with mild trepidation. Watching every step he took, the fox closed its mouth and stared up at him when they were no less than a foot apart. For a moment, they only looked at one another as if they were acquainting themselves with the thing in front of them. A minute later the fox cocked its head to the side and gave Jean a closed mouth smile; its eyes closing into little half-moons in the process.

"It's wonderful to finally meet you," spoke a voice though only Jean could hear it.

Whipping his head around, he looked to see who had said that. Yet there wasn't a soul in sight. Arching a questioning brow, he turned back to see the fox beaming back at him still. Biting his bottom lip, Jean decided to roll with it. With a small grunt, he sat down in front of the animal--now on eye level with what could have been a wild or rabid fox--crossed his legs, and took a deep breath before letting it out. Sticking out his palm the way he did when he taught his old golden retriever how to shake, the blonde smiled.

"Nice to meet you too. I'm Jean," he said pleasantly while extending his hand to the fox. Much to his surprise, it placed its petite paw in the center of his palm.

"I'm Sibylla. You know I've waited my whole life to meet you."

"Really?" he chuckled. "Why's that?"

"Because I'm your familiar. Every witch has one, even white witches. Together we make a full team."

Smiling, Jean reached out to pet Sibylla behind the ears; his expression brightening at how happy it made both her and him. "So all that shit the others were saying was true, huh."

"Sure is."

"How long have you been out here waiting for me?"

"Twenty-six years," Sibylla said plainly as she nuzzled into his hand with a look of complete satisfaction on her sweet face. "I was born at the same time as you. All familiars are."

"You waited out here in the forest for twenty-six years?" He was more shocked about how long his familiar had waited for him rather than the fact that he was sitting in the middle of the woods talking to a fox like a lunatic. Scratching behind her right ear, Jean smiled softly. "Sorry I kept you waiting Sibylla."

"It's alright. And you can call me Sibyl. Just you though."

"'Kay," he laughed. They were quiet for a long moment until Jean sighed. "I guess this means everything is real. Well, what they were telling me anyways."

Whining when his mood changed, Sibylla crawled into his lap and edged his chin with her nose. "Why are you sad about it?"

"It's not that I'm sad; just confused. I thought I was just having bad nightmares and then all of a sudden I'm some kind of witch and I have a fox familiar."

"I can turn into something else if you want."

"No, that's not it you nerd," he laughed as he stroked her back. "Anyways, I like foxes. But you probably already knew that."

"Maybe," she hummed, dragging out the word as she delighted in him scratching the spot on her back she couldn't reach. "I was so lonely out here though. I'm happy I can finally go home with you."

"So you are going to come home with me. I was beginning to wonder how this works because the other witches I saw always have their familiars hanging around them."

"Yup, I'm going to be at your side from now on since you've grown into your casting abilities." Nipping him lovingly on the neck, Sibylla pawed at his face then licked his cheek. "We're a team now. It's my job to look after you and defend you and also give you advice when it comes to casting spells and magic."

"That's pretty handy." Wrapping his arms around her loosely, Jean continued petting his new friendly familiar, smiling the whole time as she took great joy in just him scratching behind her little ear. "So, quick question before we head home."

"Yes?"

"What's with the butterflies that saved me last night? Was that you?"

"Butterflies? No, I've always been a fox. Although, when white witches are in peril, sometimes nature will come to its aid. They probably like you which is why they helped. Who knows."

"Right. Who knows." Picking Sibylla up as he stood, Jean looked at her all snuggled up in his arms and laughed. "Do you want me to carry you back to the house or did you want to walk?"

Looking up at him then the road ahead, the fox whined. "Maybe I should walk. Something tells me you have coming expecting you."

"Yeah, and I'm not looking forward to it."

"Right, of course not." Looking up at him once Jean had sat her down, the fox's face lifted with another sweet smile. "Lets get going."

"Yup. Lead the way."

Cocking her head to the side, the animal grunted. "How? I don't know where you're going?"

Snorting a laugh the innocence of the statement, Jean shook his head. "This way Sibyl."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eren and Marco sat in the dining room of the house, still tense from the events of that morning. It was obvious when he had left that Jean was in a right foul mood and both brunette's were on his shit list though for entirely different reasons. The blonde's best friend had kept his identity as an irregular a secret all their lives even when Jean had confided in him about his repeated night terrors. On the flipside, Marco had just entered the picture only recently but found himself on the receiving end of the young mans distrust after lying to him only to boss him around once Jean had learned the truth. It wasn't a secret that the older brunette had a mouth on him or that he was more fluent in sarcasm than he was in English or the six other languages he had learned in the last hundred and some odd years.

However, despite knowing that he would be angry with the both of them, neither knew what to expect when the blonde came in through the front door. Eren and Jean had been best friends since childhood; neither of them could remember a time when they weren't together. They had seen each other at their worst, their best, their most vulnerable... The two young men hid nothing from one another or at least that was what Jean had thought. Marco had it a bit easier since he wasn't close friends with the blonde. However, there was a definite attraction between them and, had he been smarter, he could have tried to use that to his advantage in getting Jean to cooperate. But he had blown everything sky high that night he found Jean doing his homework in the coffee shop. That single bold faced lie was the first crack in his armor and they both knew it.

Backs stiffening when they heard the front door swing open, Eren hopped to attention--sliding off of the maple bar stool he was sitting on--while Marco's head lifted up and out of his hands. As they walked into the living room together--Marco eyeing Eren who looked more uncomfortable than man headed to the gallows--the two men heard not just one set of feet on the floor, but a second set close behind the blonde. Jean almost ran straight into them as he rounded the corner with Sibylla hot on his heels.

Staring at one another for a long moment, Marco's eyes wandered over Jean--his skin still dewy and flushed from running. Moments later, his sights fell on the fox standing proudly at his side. Expression twisting from the confusion, he pondered for a moment how the blonde's familiar could be strong enough at that point to change from a flock of butterflies to a solitary being like a fox. 'That doesn't make any sense,' he though to himself; a single brow arching as the red fox growled lowly at him. 'That thing should have nowhere near enough strength to consolidate into a single creature that quickly.' Half a second later, Jean stepped in front of the familiar, obstructing Marco's view of it.

"You're pissing her off with all your staring so I suggest you stop," the blonde warned with an icy tone.

"I thought your familiar was the swarm of butterflies."

"Nope. Those were just regular swallowtails apparently. Sibylla is actually my familiar," Jean said with a quick glance down to the fox that was huddled behind his legs. Looking back up, his piercing amber gaze darted between the two brunettes before landing on the older one directly in front of him. "Now this is how this conversation is going to go. We're going to sit down and I'm going to ask the questions and one of you will answer. No bullshit, no lying, and no dodging the questions. Marco, if you're going to be the boss of me then first I'm going to be the boss of you. If for one second I think you're lying then this conversation is over and you can come back tomorrow when I finish work. Eren," Jean said turning his attention to the anxious young man, "you already know the drill so don't piss me off. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it. Look I'm really so--"

"Save it," Jean said coldly as he raised a hand signaling him to stop. "I don't want to hear that right now. I just want answers. This witch thing is kinda fucking up my life a little right now and you both owe me this. So sit down and not another question from you."

Too afraid to argue any further, both brunettes sat down. Eren had never been on the receiving end of Jean's displeasure but at least he knew what to expect so he could brace for the worst. Marco on the hand was totally screwed. He didn't have the slightest idea of how bad things could get if he said or did the wrong thing. Jean may be the calmer friend between them but when he went off, all bets were off. And because Marco was the one that had originally roped Eren into this mess four months ago, he was going to let the older brunette walk into that mine field without any words of caution. It served him right because none of this would have happened if they had just let Eren have an honest talk with his friend as he had originally planned to do.

Sitting down across from the brunettes on the couch opposite of them with Sibylla huddled up next to him, Jean pet behind her ears while she kept both eyes trained on the witch in front of her. She didn't like him, not because he was a dark casting type or because he had annoyed Jean; although that didn't help his case either. There was something off about him; a dark cloud that loomed over him like an oppressive weight choking out all joy from his world.

"Watch out Jean," she said to her master only; keeping their communication on a channel only they could hear. "There's something dark hanging over that one." Sibylla jerked her chin toward the witch with eyes narrowed in on him. "Probably a curse of some kind; I can tell just by lookin' at him."

"Thanks Sib," Jean said over their link with a loving pat to her hip before he looked up at the man in question; their eyes locking with an energy neither of them quite understood but felt nonetheless. "So I'm a white witch. What are you?" Marco remained quiet; arms folded loosely across his chest. "If you get to know everything about me then I get to know something about you. I refuse to let a perfect stranger into my place every week."

Heaving out a sigh, Marco squared his jaw. "I'm a witch too but I do dark casting."

"Dark casting?"

"It's the opposite of your magic. It's not evil though; only the people that use it for the wrong reasons are. But every witch--dark or white--have an element or medium that they draw their energy from. Mine is, quite literally, dark energy."

"As in the kind the professor talked about in my astronomy class?"

"Exactly."

"How?"

Shrugging, Marco shook his head. "I don't know how it works although Hanji may since she's been studying our kind for over twenty years. But it's why I can create rifts through time and space to move from one point to the next although I can't go back in time. It's also the secret behind the 'flame' I use while fighting."

"So you're a space witch?" Eren snickered with a snarky chuckle. "That's one for the books."

"Fuck you Jaeger," the other brunette snapped.

"Shut up, both of you," Jean ordered, his patience still at the absolute minimum. Glancing between them, he looked back to Marco. "So you're a dark casting witch and I'm a white casting---"

"No, you're a white witch," Marco corrected then paused when he realized he had both interrupted and possibly pissed off Jean. When he wasn't chastised, he cleared his throat and continued. "Dark witch use various forms of dark magic or dark casting. But white witches can use either light, shadow, soul, or lunar casting; sometimes two different types if they're skilled enough. Since you're...abilities, I guess, are more active at night, you could be a lunar type or a shadow type. Or the pulse you projected could have been pent up emotional energy which would make you a soul type..."

"So you don't know."

Shaking his head from side to side, the brunette answered. "It's hard to tell at this point. We have to get you linked into a coven so that you're protected and then, from there, the coven head will teach you how to use your magic. At that point we'll know what we're working with."

"What do you mean 'we're? The only person I'm answering to is you. I don't care if that big blonde guy with the crazy eyebrows in your boss or if Levi and Kat are your colleagues. The only person I'm talking to is you. Got it?"

Forcing back the snide remark he could have made, Marco just nodded though only slightly. "Okay. I can arrange that. But if I say you're in peril, you listen to me. If there's a breach in the astral plain nearby, you come to me first and without question. I'm the warden of this district which means your safety is my priority and responsibility."

Scoffing with a roll of his eyes, Jean gave a chilling smile. "Don't bullshit me by pretending you actually care. I'm just another person on your list."

Both of the men in front of him were shocked by the harshness of his words.

"Dude, Jean, was that really necessary?" Eren dared to ask when he caught the subtle shift in Marco's expression; going from confident to hurt though change went virtually unnoticed. "He wouldn't have come last night if he wasn't worried to some degree about you."

"Sure."

"No he's right," Marco said suddenly; his gaze turned cold and unforgiving. "What does it matter what I say? I'm just some asshole come to wreck your life, right?"

"Right."

Swallowing back the bitterness, the older brunette breathed out through his nose, opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, but then shook his head while biting on his bottom lip with a spent smile. "You really are something."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jean asked indignantly.

Marco just chuckled and looked down. "Nothing. It means nothing." Sighing, he took a brief look at his wrist watch before standing up. "As much as I would like to sit here and chat, I have to go home and sleep because I have work at eleven."

"It's already past noon," the blonde said matter-of-factly.

"P.m genius. Our shifts are overnight because that's when denizens are more active. Why else do you think I'd come in every night at the same time for coffee?" Catching the look in Eren's eyes, Marco gaze him a threatening squint before continuing. "Anyway, I have to go. Come by my office after you get off work so we can redo your paperwork. Got it?"

"And where exactly is your office? You knocked me out last time, remember?"

"The DMV Jean. Where else would you hide an organization like ours? Tell Roz that Bott sent you and bring your familiar. She has to be registered too." Waving over his shoulder as he opened the front door, Marco left with a brief "Later."

Now, it was just Eren and Jean and Sibylla looking between the two uncomfortable friends.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Barron watched Marco from across the office as his master spun slowly in his chair mumbling to himself. In the hundred some odd years that they had been together, the creature had yet to figure out all of his habits. And while this one in particular was born from anxiety, the feline couldn't peg its exact origin. Was he excited? Scared? Or just nervous in general? staring at the witch as he reclined back further in his cognac brown armchair as the spinning slowed even more, Barron wondered just how sane the man was.

"You know," the cat began; it's mouth unmoving as the words were spoken. "It'd be a lie if I didn't say you look mildly insane right now."

Snorting a short laugh, Marco came to a gradual stop. "Maybe I am. Hey Barron," he said with a softness to his voice the familiar wasn't used to hearing; not anymore at least. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like to live a normal life?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, like a regular human would. Being born, going to school like everyone else, having a career, falling in love..." the brunette said, his voice trailing on the last word. Swallowing hard, he finished. "Living only once and with a purpose. What do you think that's like?"

Hopping down from the sofa across the room, the black cat approached his master. "I'd imagine it to be rather nerve-wracking. It would explain why more humans seek psychiatric help these days than before and of their own free will."

"True."

"Why are you thinking about this? Are you in one of your existential moods?"

"Maybe. I don't know. My mind was just wandering away from me." Staring at the ceiling, Marco looked as if he weren't there at all. As if he were far away in another world in another time. "You know I've forgotten almost completely what it's like to be human. So much so that I was bewildered by Jean's reaction today. I couldn't wrap my head around why he was so upset." Petting Barron behind the ears once he had jumped up on the desk next to him, the brunette narrowed his eyes as if staring at the ceiling fan any harder would give him the answers to the questions he had. "Maybe I'm just thinking too heavily on it but..."

"Yes?"

Killing the words before they could escape past his lips, Marco shook his head. "Nevermind. I'm just rambling at this point."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Anyway, the kid should be coming around soon and I need to finish drafting his new file before he comes in."

Now more worried than he was before their conversation, Barron sat on the top left corner of the witches desk watching as the man busied himself with finalizing Kirsteins paperwork. He hadn't seen Marco this pensive since the 1970's when the Vietnam War was in full swing and he was on the verge of an existential crisis. Three times the man had tried to off himself; failing miserably each and every time. Since then he had lived the life of a recluse. Avoiding humans when he could, nothing and no one could get to him. The only people that could sneak past the fortress he had created were Levi, Kat, Ymir when she was around, and sometimes Hanji. But even so, nobody really understood him; knew what the little quirks in his expressions meant or what was hiding behind that mask.

Yet, for the first time in half a century, Marco was behaving, well, human. He was flustered, anxious... Had started developing weird habits like visiting that coffee house every night before work; the one owned by that obnoxious female human with the glasses that had asked Marco if she could study him and his familiar. Shivering at the memory, Barron ignored the idea of being poked and prodded for the sake of science as Hanji had put it. Staring at Marco, the feline could see clear as day that something in the witch had changed. It never ceased to amaze him how peculiar humans could be; regardless of whether or not they were paranaturals, irregulars, or just normal mortals. They were all confusing to some degree and Marco was right up there in the top fifty.

As the familiar delved deeper into his pondering, there came a rapping at the door. Ears perking at the sound, Barron's hair stood on end and his limbs stiffened as he sensed the presence of another witch; one that was not of the darkness and with a strong aura unlike any he had felt. When Marco responded with a weary "come in," the door opened to reveal the source of the cats discomfort. Of course he was agitated. On the other side of the entryway was the white witch everyone was talking about; the one with the outrageous energy frequency that seemed to radiate forth from him like solar flares shooting off from some colossal star in the sky.

"You're punctual," Marco joked lazily as he eyed Jean up and down; thinking nothing of the gesture. At the young mans side was his fox familiar, Sibylla who did not appear to like him one bit. "Have a seat. I have a few things we need to discuss before we go on our little field trip."

Closing the door behind him then leaning against the wooden surface, Jean stared back at him with an indecipherable expression. "I have a few things I wanted to ask you before we get down to business." Watching the brunette as he sat up straight in his chair with an inquisitive look in his eyes, the blonde continued. "Like I said, if you're going to be my warden then I'd rather you not be a perfect stranger. You owe me that much."

"I don't owe you jack," the older witch laughed incredulously as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Actually you do because if it weren't for the energy pulse I created last night you'd be in far worse shape than you are now."

Squaring his jaw with pursed lips and stern eyes, Marco thought it over for a long moment before he relented. "You get three questions. Ask and I'll answer honestly if it doesn't go against the oath of silence I took when I became an agent here. And you can't ask two things in the same question. Understood?"

Nodding, Jean remained pressed against the door as if he had lost all strength in his legs and it were the only thing holding him up. Observing the brunette in a way that would make one think he were trying to solve the world's most perplexing puzzle, he bought his time--formed the questions in his head first before asking them. Over the course of the day, he had calmed down enough to accept what he was and how it was going to, undoubtedly, change his life. However, if he were going to entrust Marco with his safety and, possibly, his life, he needed to know more than what he had offered him during their conversation earlier that afternoon.

"How long have you been working for the FBSP?" the blonde said at last. "Sibylla warned me there something dark hanging over you. Does that have anything to do with it?"

Shooting the fox an icy glare, Marco didn't miss a beat. "That's a question within a question Jean. Pick one or you'll be down by two."

"Answer both."

Looking between him, the fox, then back to Jean, the brunette sighed heavily as he ran both hands over his face, through the longer waves of his dark brown hair, then let them fall into his lap. "I've been an agent for the FBSP for one-hundred and fifty-four years. Come December thirteenth it'll be one hundred and fifty-five."

Lips parting only slightly from the shock, Jean waited for him to continue.

Licking his lips, Marco swallowed hard on the nerves building in the back of his throat. He hated talking about the reason for how long he'd been around. But it did relate to he had an aura darker than the typical dark-casting witch and it was also the reason why he had been scouted by Erwin all those years ago to be a field agent for the setup organization that would later on become the FBSP. Gaze locking with Jean, there was something pleading in Marco's eyes. It were as if he were asking the young man why he had asked that question in particular. Of all the things he could have wanted to know, why that one?

"Sit down Jean."

"Why? You haven't answered my--"

"Sit down and I'll tell you," Marco said, all the sarcasm and snark gone from his tone; his voice stripped down to something more vulnerable yet still possessive of authority. Watching the blonde traverse the room, he took another measured breath in then out when Jean sat down. "When I was six years old, I watched my mother die as she broke her oath to never harm a human so that she may protect my sister and I. Do you know what happens when a witch breaks their vow?"

Shaking his head, Jean remained silent.

"The witch loses control of itself. Becomes possessed, held captive by their own magic and rage. In a single burst all our energy and life force is channeled into that single act and our powers increase tenfold which is why it's the last and final resort when all else fails. The townspeople had figured out that both my parents were witches. They hung my father the day before and burned his body as it hung from the hanging tree they used to execute murders, heretics, and rapists. Then they came after my mother, a white witch and the towns midwife. They would have killed my sister and I had my mother not hidden us under the floorboards. An angry mob marched on our home, beat down the door, and practically battered my mother into submission--calling her evil when she had done nothing wrong by them. Had they threatened just her life, she wouldn't have broken her oath. But the moment they brought her children into the equation," Marco paused as the memory flooded back, "when they told her what they planned to do to us, she lost it. I can still remember the sound of her pained cries as she burned alongside the very men who had accused her of witchcraft; the same people that murdered my father without a second thought."

Sinking back into the sofa with an expression described only as anguished, Jean could feel his fingers tremble. He wanted to ask how he escaped but he only had one question left and Marco had yet to answer his second. But just as he was about to nudge him into responding, the brunette continued and of his own volition.

"For years, I had to keep my identity a secret as our family name had become synonymous with the dark arts and witchcraft. For twenty years, my sister and I drifted from town to town, doing whatever we had to in order to stay alive. We rarely used our magic because my mother's final act had sparked forgotten fears that hadn't seen the light of day since the Salem Witch Trials. When the Confederate states decided to go to war with the Union, we saw it as our chance to start anew. So we signed up with the Union army, her as a nurse and me as a regular foot soldier. Everything was fine until a wounded comrade caught my sister healing me in the sick ward late one night." 

He took another deep, grounding breath as he staved off the phantom pains from his old wounds. Watching Jean as the information sank in, Marco kept going.

"But rather than lining us up against a wall and shooting us dead, the US government made us a different offer," the brunette said, his voice peppered with hints of his old southern accent; something that hadn't seen the light of day in over a hundred years. "At that point, the Union was fighting a loosing battle. When they had caught wind of people with extraordinary skills like my own, they created a battalion of elite soldiers that was the equivalent of today's special op's forces. Every member of the hundred and fourth division was a paranatural of some sort. In exchange of our help, the government protected our identities and granted us special pardons to remain within the country; that is if we helped them win the war." 

Eyes on the ground, Marco looked more haunted in that moment than he had during their entire discussion. "In eighteen sixty-two, my squad was assigned to General Burnside's right grand division." Shaking his head with a pitiful smile, the brunette swallowed back the pain. "Well, you already know the history. We didn't stand a chance against Lee's forces. Out-matched in battle prowess, the Army of the Potomac was slaughtered over the course of three days. My squad was to cross the Rappahannock on the thirteenth of December. When we did, half of my men were killed before we made landfall. The rest were shot dead the moment their boots hit the shore or blown to pieces, stabbed with bayonets in their backs, or bled out in the shallow waters with their arms and legs blown clean off. I was no different. I was attacked by a Confederate and stabbed in the back with his dagger. The blade punctured my lung and scraped the bottom left of my heart causing me to bleed out. I remember lying on the shore waiting to die, choking on my own blood before the world went black. But when I woke up, there weren't any clouds, pearly gates, or angels. No bright light or friendly smiles from family members long since passed calling out to me. Instead, I opened my eyes and saw Erwin and Mike. I don't know why, but death had rejected me that day and has every year since. Whether I was cursed or exiled from the afterlife doesn't matter. What matters is that I can't die; not until I've fulfilled my purpose here. It's why your familiar doesn't like me. She knows I'm cursed; marked by it indefinitely." 

Leaning forward, Marco held Jean's gaze as he folded both arms over the desk then arched a brow. "Does that answer cover it? Or am I still a stranger?"

Speechless, Jean struggled to find his words. He didn't want to believe what he had heard; wouldn't have if he hadn't seen Marco's face in his history book a couple days ago. However he could tell just from the look in the man's eyes that everything he had just said was the truth. He looked haunted. Had the same expression on his face that Jean's grandfather did when he talked about his time serving in the army during the Vietnam War. It were as if the ghosts from Marco's past were clawing at him, trying to drag him down into the grave with them and he was just barely getting away with his life every night he went to sleep.

Nodding, the blonde held Marco's gaze. "Yeah," he said quietly. "That covers it."

Humming his approval, the brunette rolled his head to the side. "You've got one more question."

"I think I'll save it," Jean stated; his voice low and thoughtful.

"Had enough for today?"

The young man nodded. HE had gotten more out of Marco than he had anticipated. Didn't know why the brunette had shared that personal bit of his history with him but didn't question it either. Regardless, Jean was no longer in the mood to play twenty questions with the witch. This was already more than he could absorb in one sitting and the pain he felt while listening to the horrific tales went beyond empathy. Jean couldn't understand why, but his chest tightened and his lungs froze when he was told of the sacrifice Marco's mother had made as well as the deaths of his comrades.

Catching the expression on Jean's face Marco knew it'd be best to not leave him hanging.

"I'm telling you this because this working relationship won't work if we stay strangers to one another."

"Working relationship?" Jean mused, his brows furrowing with the question.

Marco nodded. "Not only will I be your warden and you my ward, but Erwin has decided that it'd be in your best interest to take you under our wing and teach you how to use your powers in the off chance that the fiend that had been tormenting you returns."

"Wait, I thought that thing was killed?"

Shaking his head, the brunette met his gaze. "No remains were found. Beldams always leave behind a smoldering pile of ash and sand when they die. But there wasn't any that night meaning she's still alive; wounded but still breathing. So, to make sure you are able to defend yourself if she returns and I cannot reach you in time, you are to shadow my team on missions so that you may learn how to wield your powers properly and do so without risking your life and those of the others around you. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that you're one of the strongest white witches the FBSP has seen since it's conception two hundred years ago. Lastly, we have to find you a parent coven. Every witch belongs to one and it differs depending on your talents. Since you're a white witch with soul casting there's only one group that can adopt you in. Fortunately, I happen to know the grand caster fairly well and have already arranged for your induction into the New Saleem coven. Understood?"

There was a long moment of silence between them while Jean struggled to find his voice.

"Jean?"

"I understand. I get it," the blonde affirmed though he still looked thrown off by everything. "So I guess I don't get to have a normal life anymore."

"Did you ever have a normal life?" Marco joked; his laugh sounding closer to being friendly than snarky. "This isn't as bad as it looks. It's a lot to take in now and me being a complete ass isn't helping either but it'll get better. At least now you know why this shit has been happening to you."

"That is true," Jean chuckled pitifully as he slumped against the couch and stared up at the ceiling. "So this is really happening. I'm not going to wake up and it's all some fairy-tale, right?"

"I promise you Jean, this isn't all in your head."

Taking a sharp breath in through his nose then exhaling as he bit down on his bottom lip, the young man felt a strange sense of relief wash over him. At least now he knew he wasn't entirely crazy.

"Right, well, I guess we should get started."

Smirking at his mental resilience, Marco opened the blonde's case file.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __FILE: Revised FBSP registration form for Jean P. Kirstein; date entered 10/21/17, 02:30 a.m. ET.; revision conducted by Agent Marco L. V. Bott, supervised by Director Erwin A. Smith.
> 
>  
> 
> NAME: Jean Pascal Kirstein----SEX: Male  
> DOB: 04/07/19xx---AGE: 26  
> HEIGHT: 180.30 cm--WEIGHT: 72.12 kg---BLOOD TYPE: AB-  
> BIRTHPLACE: Chapel Hill, NC--TIME: 05:35 a.m.  
> EYE COLOR: Amber---SKIN: Fair  
> HAIR: Light Blonde  
> PARENTS: Genevieve Louisa Pascal (alive), Gabe Mathias Kirstein (deceased)  
> RACE: Witch---SUBGROUP: White/Latent  
> CLASSIFICATION: WL--IDENTIFICATION #: WL-000011  
> DISTRICT: CH-NC-30---WARDEN: Marco L. V. Bott  
> FBSP PHYLUM: White Witch/Ambient/Seer; potential sensor  
> SKILL/ABILITY: white witch with soul casting; capable of seeing past projected paranatural glamours; sees/converses with denizens; planes walker with ability to manipulate the astral planes; shows no signs of genetic interference  
> ELEMENTAL (mark 'yes' or 'no'): ___ yes----X no.....(skip following three questions if answered 'no')  
> \--ELEMENT TYPE: n/a  
> \--LATENT (mark 'yes' or 'no'): ___yes---X no  
> \--FAMILIAR TYPE/NAME: n/a  
> \--COUNTRY OF ORIGIN: n/a  
> UNDEAD (mark 'yes' or 'no'): ___yes----X no.....(skip following three questions if answered 'no')  
> \--TYPE: n/a  
> \--DARKLING TYPE/NAME (if apply): n/a  
> \--DATE OF LAST INFECTION OUTBREAK: n/a  
> WITCH (mark 'yes' or 'no'): X yes----____no.....(skip following five questions if answered 'no')  
> \--CASTING TYPE: White-->Soul Casting  
> \--FAMILIAR TYPE/NAME: Red Fox named Sibylla "Sibyl"  
> \--PARENT COVEN: New Saleem (adopted in by Grand Caster Y.S.A. Lenz)  
> \--REGISTRATION #: WL000011302  
> \--INTERNATIONAL REGISTRATION #: WLNC0000113021  
> SENSOR (mark 'yes' or 'no'): X yes----___no....(skip following four questions if answered 'no')  
> \--SENSORY TYPE: sight/sound  
> \--ENERGY LEVEL: low-high; unpredictable/erratic  
> \--RESTING FREQUENCY: low-medium  
> \--ACTIVE FREQUENCY: high  
> NOTES: Latent white witch with unknown affiliation to any known coven. Soul/spirit casting type with red fox familiar with free-morph abilities. Capable of astral projection and manipulating/interacting with the astral plains. Has the capabilities of a high energy type ambient seer but lacks resistance to projected aura from other paranaturals.


	6. Close To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean can't escape his dreams, Eren is paid a surprise visit, and Marco and Jean get to know each other a little better...
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> *LOW GRUMBLING*: Okay, so this is my third take on this chapter because my computer has been acting up and then Archive forced me out right as I was uploading this so it lost the content and the file on my Word was corrupted so I had to write this up from scratch. So, yeeeeah, it's been a long couple of days. Anyways, I hope you like it and take the developments well because I'm just as surprised as you are with some of them. But hey, this story has a mind of it's own.
> 
> A tout a l'heure mes amis et bonne soir!
> 
> -Mars <3

Jean's dream that night started off the way it always did with him running and some unseen pursuer following him close behind. The locations changed as quickly as they came as if he were teleporting from location to location. Running through a spice market in Morocco, Jean bumped into faceless pedestrians; apologizing as they chastised him in their native tongue. Taking the next right, he entered the massive dye baths where linens, silks, and garments of every kind were soaked in jewel tone waters to capture the bright hues in their fibers. Skipping in between the baths, he glanced over his shoulder, panicked when the pursuer had nearly closed the distance between them, then yelped as his foot knocked against the lip of of one of the large soaking vats.

Spinning as he fell, Jean's back smacked against the water with a large splash. Floating down, he watched the bubbles rise then whip past him as he was propelled toward the surface of the moonlit waters. Breaching the surface, the young man was at the center of a cathedral with walls covered in stained glass. Before him was a spiral stairway. Goosebumps spreading over his skin as the water he was still standing in began to bubble, Jean sprang from the pool--slipping on his wet soles the moment his shoe made contact with the first step.

Pulling himself up, he ran up the stairway that stretched higher and higher. With every step he took, the stained glass panel beneath his foot lit up. Trailing behind him like they did in other dreams where the swallowtail butterflies. Like the tail of a comet, they stuck close to their companion, acting as the barrier between him and any impending danger. Looking over his shoulder for a brief moment, Jean almost screamed when a giant window with a depiction of the birth of Christ appeared in front of him. Unable to stop in time, he broke through it, the pieces shattering around him yet not leaving a cut on his luminous alabaster skin. On the next level was another stained glass picture, this time of Mary Magdalene washing the mans feet. 

Breaking past that then the next which represented Judas's betrayal, Jean didn't think of what it all meant. He didn't have time to stop and ponder the imagery. What mattered was getting away from the stranger following him. He knew that they meant him great harm. That if they caught him, this would be the last dream he had. So Jean kept running, pushed his aching legs harder as they screamed for him to stop. Crashing through a glass portrait of Christ's crucifixion and then one of his resurrection, his foot fell through empty space where there should have been a step.

Opening his mouth to scream, no sound came out as he plummeted through the vast dark space--watching the spiral stairway circle around him creating streams of colored light before vanishing from sight. Around him were voices--whispers from people his head couldn't remember but his heart knew. Closing his eyes as his free falling form picked up speed, they fluttered open just as he broke through the full moon. Watching the stars above him climb higher and higher as he fell towards earth, Jean was left breathless.

With an outstretched hand, he reached for the moon as it moved away from him. It was so beautiful and mesmerizing; so soothing that he had completely forgotten about what he was running from. Landing with a gentle thud against what he assumed was his bed, the blonde closed his eyes--happy to finally be safe. Shifting in place, he suddenly realized something. The scent on the sheets was different. The feel of the cotton was softer and the coldness that he was expecting upon returning to an empty bed was replaced by a comforting heat.

Warm and all encompassing, it wrapped around him like a security blanket, wiping away all lingering fears. Whoever was in bed with him took Jean in their arms, pulling him closer in a protective loving manner. He felt adoration radiating off of the stranger and a fondness that his own heart ached with. As their fingers tangled together with his palm lying flat on his stomach, his companions other hand raked gently through his flaxen hair. Soft pillowy lips kissed the nape of his neck, following the three linear beauty marks along it up before deviating to place a feather light peck on his jaw and ear.

Heart slamming in his chest, Jean rolled over; wanting so badly to see their face. He knew this person. Couldn't see their face as it was cast in the shadows caused by the moonlight. But he knew them. Knew their body heat. The strength of their touch and the steadiness of their breathing. He knew the feel of the silken hair he carded his fingers through and the intoxicating splendor of those lips as they met him. Jean didn't know why but it all felt so familiar; as if he had kissed this person before. Moving together in perfect harmony, their pace became something less delicate and more possessive; the need to claim each other driving him further into this dizzying daydream. 

Hot needy lips trailed down Jeans neck as hands wandered down his hips to grip his thighs as they pulled him flush against the firm body of another. Everywhere they touched felt as if it had been set ablaze with a feverish need for more. He writhed under the teasing ministrations, gasped as teeth scraped over his Adam's apple and brushed up to his ear. Moaning as the strangers pelvis ground against his, he felt their hard length rub against his as if to foreshadow what was soon to follow. Panting as the friction became near intolerable, Jean called out to them, begging heatedly for more.

The weight against him and the sickening sweet smell of cedar and citrus filling his lungs was intoxicating. Jean could feel himself getting harder by the second; rutting against his partner with a near savage need to be joined with them. The way their lips worked against one another--tongues tasting each other with curiosity and fondness--Jean wanted nothing more than to drown in the embrace; to be devoured whole by this enchanting monster that held him so close and so dearly.

When the person grinding against him bit his bottom lip as they parted, Jean could not stop the loud moan from escaping his mouth. He was so tightly wound up and wanted more. He loved the heat of their forms pressed against one another and the sweet taste of the mans mouth but he wanted more; so much more. Silencing the blonde with a firm domineering kiss that invaded his mouth and fanned the flames in his chest to a new high, the stranger chuckled. Trailing their lips up to his ear where they nipped at his lobe, the faceless other teased the sensitive skin at the junction of his jaw and throat.

"What's wrong Jean?" spoke a familiar silken voice with a hint of playfulness. "Can't take the heat?"

\------------------------------------------------------------------

Eyes snapping open with a slight gasp, Jean woke from the dream still breathing heavy and with one hand fisted into the pillow and the other knotting in the sheets. He didn't understand why these dreams always opened with him being chased or why the last location he ended up in was always a church with a never-ending staircase. Jean didn't understand any of it but his body reacted to it nonetheless. It all felt so real that he awoke every time with his pulse racing.

It had been eleven days since he started shadowing Marco at work and six since the first in a series of embarrassing wet dreams starring the brunette. He never saw his face but Jean knew from the voice and the hints of cedar cologne that Marco was the one in his dreams. Not only was it annoying because it made working with the guy increasingly difficult but it also added to his sexual frustration.

Anyone with eyes at the FBSP could see that the two men had more than just a mild interest in one another and it showed in the way they interacted with one another; Marco poking fun at how naive and innocent Jean was with his ideals while Jean took jabs at his age saying he should invest in a girlfriend and a monthly prescription for Viagra. It took them the better half of a week to find their groove and become acquainted with one another's pet peeves and little habits. There were small fights and outbursts. Marco hated it when Jean repeatedly clicked the end of his uniball pen and Jean couldn't stand it when the brunette tapped his nails against the desk in quick succession. On their third day working together they got into a screaming match over the older man's near obsessive need to have everything on his desk lined up perfectly after he had snapped at the blonde for knocking things out of sorts for the umpteenth time. 

Yet, despite this, they had grown closer; became more civil in conversation and more at ease with one another though there were still flare up's. Jean became more mindful of his partners workspace while Marco did his best to ignore it when Jean clicked his pen countless times to relieve stress. Eventually, they had become blind to the little things and found peace in one another's company. Usually, Marco would spend the better half of his morning at work trying to come down from his own nightmares; needing two Tylenol's and a four or so cigarettes to unwind from the intensity of the vivid memories. But the blonde's presence had a strange soothing effect on him. Marco was smoking less and less by the day and the dreams were starting to become softer, revisiting founder memories instead of horrific scenes from the battlefield.

Likewise, Jean felt the effects of Marco's presence on him. The nightmares had stopped for the time-being granting him the most blissful rest he had had in years. Every morning, he'd rise with renewed vigor, ready to take on the days challenges. Now he looked forward to going to work. It may not have been the warm familiar environment of the Darwin which he truly missed. But the FBSP felt just as welcoming as odd as that may be. He finally knew what he was, that he wasn't alone, and that being different wasn't anything to be ashamed of. The hefty paycheck of fifty-eight dollars an hour helped as well. 

But what really made work worth waking up for every morning was seeing that stupidly beautiful face with those disgustingly cute freckles and that stupidly hot smile Marco always had on his face whenever he was listening to a song he liked. As such, Jean's mind ran rampant every time he closed his eyes--dreaming up ridiculous scenarios that always wound up with them fucking each other senseless. At first, he didn't mind because, despite what he told himself and others, he couldn't deny how much he had come to adore that beautiful face, that bubbling laughter that pushed past Marco's tempting lips, and those eyes that he'd catch burning into him from time to time. With each passing day, Jean was slowly losing his reasoning; every brush against one another in the elevator and stolen glance was winding him up tighter than a top; the tension building inside him like a fire slowly coming to life. Now thoroughly more irritated than pleased with the dreams, Jean slid out from under the blankets to take care of aftermath.

It was already Halloween and, instead of hanging out with Eren, Armin, and Mikasa like he had planned, Jean was forced to spend the next two days with his adopted coven whom he had yet to meet. He didn't entirely understand why it had to be that weekend but from what he remembered Marco saying was that it'd be easier for his coven leader to tell which type of witch he was the closer it was to All Saint's Day. After about two weeks of acclimating to the strange new world he belonged to the idea seemed less frightening. However, spending the weekend in the same living space as Marco and having to look at him that often was bound to mess with the poor blonde.

Cranking up the heat with the hot water almost on full blast with just enough cold water thrown in so that he wouldn't be scalded, Jean hopped into the shower and closed the glass sliding door after hitting play on his morning playlist. Hypotensive and irritable were some of the nicer words people used to describe the young man when woken at five in the morning. So, to counter his natural grumpiness he had compiled a folder of music that had just enough pep to get him going in the morning without being overly obnoxious. First on his list was "Beverly Hills" by Weezer; an old throwback to his awkward junior high years he spent trying to hide his southern accent in a state that was more unforgiving to southerners than it was to criminals and shady politicians.

As he rinsed the dead sea mineral conditioner from his hair--it being the only thing that tamed his unruly waves--Jean couldn't hear the bathroom door creak open. It wasn't until he was covered in the suds of his Old Spice Timber bodywash that he heard a lapping sound echoing from somewhere within the space. Taking a mental time-out from the music, his eyes opened with a slight furrowing between his brows. That wasn't the sink dripping and it was someone going to the bathroom. Moreover, this was Jean's bathroom; both Eren and Armin had their own so it wouldn't make sense for them to be using his. Realization dawned on him in that moment and the blonde slid the shower door open with a loud clack.

"Sibylla!" Jean snapped when he caught the fox drinking out of the toilet. "Hey, get out of there!"

Whining in protest with a slight sneer, the rebellious animal lifted her head only slightly. "It's just water Kit."

"Just water? You're drinking out of the toilet bowl! Get down right now."

"Fine," she moped. "Gosh, you're such a brat in the mornin--!"

Bursting at the seams when her paw slipped and she fell into the toilet, Jean watched as Sibylla struggled to climb out of the porcelain prison. Pouting like a child that had been caught stealing snacks before dinner, she trudged over to the edge of the shower and whimpered with glassy eyes as she looked up at her human. Rather than telling her "I told you so," Jean took mercy of the fox and stepped to the side, allowing her inside. After turning down the heat until it was suitable for an animal, the blonde grabbed the bottle of rose oil shampoo he had bought at the vet then crouched down to work her fur into a dense lather.

Whining and with little sneezes here and there, Sibylla was quiet as her human doted on her even though she had just called him a brat. She loved how sweet he was and how gently he handled her while cleaning her off. He was always careful to avoid her eyes and monitored how hot the water was so she wouldn't overheat. Despite having his moments, Jean really was a wonderful person; definitely number one on Sibylla's Most Likable list. It was why she guarded him so closely and growled whenever Marco came within ten feet of her human. He was hers to protect and she didn't appreciate some cursed dark-casting witch mucking it all up. After all, she was the one that had waited twenty-six years to meet him.

Clinging to Jean as he picked her up after the shampoo had been rinsed out and the water turned off, the fox nuzzled into his neck with a soft whimper. Resisting the urge to shake the water off of her, Sibylla waited until they were out of the shower because then her person would take one of the fluffy towels from the warming rack and wrap it around her. After fixing one around his waist, Jean did just as she anticipated; wearing a loving smile as he ruffled her vibrant copper fur and massaged the spot behind her ears; his favorite place to pet her because it got a little pur out of the adorable creature.

"There we go," Jean beamed as he hefted her into the bedroom and sat Sibylla down on the end of the bed, caring nothing of how it may dampen the blankets or sheets. "Now you'll be good for the next week until you go running around in the woods again."

Smiling happily as he scratched under her chin--her eyes closed crescents and cheeks rounding pleasantly--Sibylla hummed. "Thanks Kit. Sorry for making you angry."

"Don't worry about it Sib. Just stop drinking out of the toilet okay. You've got a water dish downstairs."

"Yeah but that fat bastard keeps drinking out of it and leaves bits of food in it," she groused, displacing the blame onto Eren's fat spoiled tuxedo cat, Lucifer.

"Then I'll move your bowls to the bedroom. Is that better?"

"Yup yup!"

"Good," he smirked with a small kiss to her forehead before he walked toward the closet to get dressed. "Go shake out the rest of the water in the laundry room then eat your breakfast, 'kay. Marco said it's going to be a long drive so I want you to eat ahead of time."

"Roger that Kit."

Hopping down from the bed, the fox turned tail and left the room leaving her human alone. Watching as she exited the space with little droplets falling from the tip of her tail, Jean chuckled with a shake of his head. That familiar was stranger than the days were long and had more rebellion in her than he did when he was an angsty teenager with a bad case of Scene Kid Syndrome. Drying off, the young man slipped into a pair of fitting black boxers then browsed through his closet looking for what he wanted to wear and what he was going to pack.

Tossing a pair of black joggers and a henley into his large navy Fjallraven backpack followed by a cream and navy raglan for tomorrow as well as a spare pair of socks since it was raining outside, Jean then got dressed for that day. Tugging on a pair of slim black wash jeans that he cuffed twice at the bottom, he layered on a tailored chambray button-down, his favorite grey and green geometric patterned cardigan, and the charcoal grey beanie with all the buttons in it that was hanging out of the pocket of his green cargo jacket. 

Lacing up his favorite cognac brown Brogue boots his mother had bought him as a birthday gift two years ago, Jean went back into the bathroom to swap out his earrings. Changing the five silver pieces in his left ear and the four in his right, he decided against the tongue ring and barbell for his left eyebrow. For a long moment, Jean stared at his reflection wondering why he looked so different. He knew it was because of the claiming he had undergone almost two weeks ago. But somehow he felt like he wasn't living in his own skin anymore; as if the person in the mirror as an imposture sent to dispose of him and take control of his life. 

With a shake of his head as he dispelled the thoughts from his mind, Jean grabbed his toothbrush, toothpaste, and face wash, shoved them into the backpack and turned the lights off. The last thing he grabbed before leaving was his phone charger in case there was an emergency like some witch going ballistic or maybe a gateway to the seventh ring of hell being opened up. It was as he had made it to the foot of the stairs that there came a gentle knock at the front door. Part of Jean jumped with excitement at the sound. However, there was a stronger part of him that was filled with an unspeakable dread.

Jean knew exactly who was on the other side waiting for him. He knew that when he opened that door he'd be greeted by that familiar--so so painfully familiar--scent of cedar and citrus. That there would be a snarky joke quick to follow the smile that would undoubtedly be on his lush lips; his gaze distracted by the discreet beauty mark in the left corner of the mans mouth. He knew there would be a pair of dazzling umber eyes gazing down at him with a knowing gleam in them. And Jean knew more than anything else that he'd feel his heart tumble a bit more when the man spoke.

It wasn't like he didn't know what was happening; had recognized it back when he thought Marco was human and felt it again after the initial shock of this whole witch thing had died down. Every time he laid eyes upon that brunette, he fell a little bit more for him. Jean also knew that those feelings would only ended up wrecking him because there was no way someone like Marco would be interested in a plain-as-toast guy like Jean. Well, at least that's what the blonde thought. No one had ever wanted him so why should he get his hopes up now? What could possibly be any different this time around.

Swallowing hard on the nerves building in the pit of his throat, Jean stood frozen in place until he felt Sibylla nudge his leg. Relaxing when he sensed her presence, the young man shrugged his backpack up his shoulder before closing the distance between himself and the front entrance. Then, with a deep breath, Jean opened the door. As expected, he was immediately caught in that haunting gaze that had chills running up along his spine. Those lips that he had dreamt of kissing for God only knew how long, quirked into a lopsided smirk that dimpled the mans cheeks. Fuck, he wanted to reach out and take the man in that moment.

Extending a hand out to Jean, Marco paused to appreciate his blatant ogling. It wasn't as if he had any trouble attracting the attention of both men and women. However, as of late, there was only one set of eyes Marco wanted looking him over; not that he would ever admit it. Handing the blonde the latte he had bought him, Marco snorted a brief laugh when he saw how confused Jean was.

"Relax, it's just coffee."

"I know," Jean insisted while praying that the faint blush on his cheeks had gone unnoticed.

"Ready to go?" When Jean nodded while sipping his coffee, Marco's smile grew just a bit. "Right. Let's get going kid."

"Seriously, you need to stop calling me that."

"I'll stop when you get to be my age."

"Deal," Jean said flatly as he slid into the passenger seat of the copper orange CR-V.

Shaking his head, Marco got in. Placing his drink into the cupholder so that he could buckle in, the brunette tossed his iPhone over to the young man next to him. When Jean gave him a quick confused glance, Marco couldn't help but smirk at how clueless the kid was. He was great at catching on to the subtle things like inside jokes, private conversations between the three elite witches whenever they were speaking in what they thought were low hushed tones, innuendos the brunette purposefully said just to see him blush... However simple gestures like these threw him off balance. It's as if Jean were expecting him to be an asshole one hundred percent of the time; a notion that stung if the brunette were being honest with himself.

"What?" Marco snorted a short laugh after he had backed the car out of the drive then shifted it up into third gear. "I doubt you want me picking the music this morning."

"And why's that?"

"Because I listen to heavy metal to wake me up when I have a day shift."

Eyes going wide for a split second with a single brow arched way up, Jean closed his parted lips and turned his attention to the phone in his hands. Considering the mammoth age gap between them, the young man doubted there would be any music in Marco's library that he'd like. Maybe a little bit of jazz and some classical pieces but chances were the older mans taste would be exponentially different from his. They were from different times with different upbringings and varying degrees of exposure to different cultures. It'd make sense but when Jean opened up the music library, he was gobsmacked by the wide array of musicians, genres, and generations his collection spanned.

Everything from jazz to rap and pop to hymnals was represented in library reaching as far back as gospel pieces from the mid-eighteen hundreds and as current as the Frank Ocean album released the year before. The man was a true musicphile with a deep appreciation for good tunes. And just as extensive as his library was his collection of self-created playlists. Tapping on the "Morning List," Jean chuckled when he saw that the man wasn't lying when he said he listened to heavy metal in the early a.m. hours. From Marilyn Manson and Metallica to Rob Zombie and the Deftones, his taste didn't disappoint. Half of the artists present were ones Jean listened to when he was studying for finals or had to write an English paper and needed something to vent his frustrations for him.

Eyes landing on a familiar band name that made his heart pause, Jean tapped on The Mama's and The Papa's wondering if Marco had the song he listened to every February on Valentines Day. The faint smile was barely there when he saw the tune present in the lineup. Biting his lip, Jean pressed played then set the phone down and rested his head against the window to watch the rain fall outside as "Dream A Little Dream Of Me" played. Watching a raindrop trail across the glass, he mouthed along to the words while tracing the droplets path with his pale finger.

"Interesting choice," Marco commented with both eyes on the road as the windshield wipers came on. "Didn't expect this to be in your top ten."

"I was feeling nostalgic," Jean replied though his head was somewhere else; somewhere far far away from where they were in a different time that felt like it had been dreamt up.

Glancing between his passenger and the road, the brunette pressed his lips together wondering if he should ask what he was thinking. He wasn't good at this sort of thing; being a normal person that discussed emotions and matters of the heart. Years of war, fighting for survival on the streets, and living as if he had no heart had warped him and his ability to relate to those around him. But in the past four months since he had been assigned to work Jean's case, he had slowly started feeling again. It was awkward and highly uncomfortable at times--most of the time actually--but he made an effort to be considerate. So sucking it up, he dipped his feet into what could potentially be an uncomfortable conversation.

"Why's it nostalgic? Ex-girlfriend or something?" Damn it. That wasn't how he wanted to pose the question.

Laughing shortly, Jean shook his head with his chin resting on the ball of his palm. "Nowhere close," he smiled weakly while gazing out the window. "This was my parents favorite song because it was the one playing when they first met. Every year on their anniversary they'd go to the farmer's market in the morning, dad would buy mom a bouquet of sunflowers since they were her favorite," breathing against the glass, he drew two interlocked hearts with an arrow through their centers. "He'd send her off to the spa for a massage while he cooked an early dinner and have it ready for her once she got home. They couldn't really go anywhere since there wasn't a babysitter alive that could handle me so they stayed in and watched either Casablanca, Annie Hall, or Manhattan; always those three movies. Then dad would put this song on before they went to bed and they'd slow dance in the living room."

It was a lot to take in, more than Marco believed Jean would have been willing to share and it had left the brunette speechless for a long moment as he collected his thoughts.

"They must've really loved each other," the brunette said, his voice gentle--barely above a whisper.

Nodding as a traitorous tear streaked across his cheek, Jean wiped it away before Marco could see. "Mhmm. They fought a lot--even separated for a year when dad didn't listen to mom and took the promotion up to police captain. But it didn't last. Said they weren't any good without each other."

"Sounds like a smart man, going back to his wife after all that."

"Yeah but he still got shot so what does it matter."

Despite how bitter and sharp the statement was, there wasn't any lasting malice in Jeans tone. Just sadness remained as he watched the rain fall outside. Marco didn't know what to do or say. He wasn't good at this; never had been even before suffering through the countless wars and losses. Even as a child, he did not know how to comfort Ymir whenever he'd wake up to the sound of her crying for their parents. Most of the time he'd make matters worse by saying the wrong thing, either coming off as dismissive or annoyed. Marco didn't know what to say to his own sister let alone a person he hardly knew.

Deciding to say nothing at all but take a different route instead, Marco asked Jean for his phone back. Pulling up to a red light, he quickly scrolled through the thousands of artists looking of the one he had in mind. Landing on the musician he was looking for, the brunette smirked as he tapped the album then the song. Cranking up the volume, he bobbed his head to "Bad" by Michael Jackson, singing along to the words he remembered hearing for the first time at the King of Pop's concert in New York. Catching Jean's growing smile out of the corner of his eye, his heart fluttered slightly and his expression brightened.

"Well, you were listening to a song that reminded you of your parents so I thought I'd play mine next."

"This reminds you of your parents?" Jean asked incredulously. "What, were they bikers or something?"

"Ha!" Marco laughed then shook his head. "Not by a long shot. My mother was a midwife and my father was the town pastor. They were great for the most part but when I acted up--which was often--my old man didn't hesitate to instill the fear of God in me. The moment he'd pick up that wooden spoon I'd book it across town to my friends house. I remember everyone that saw me running knew it was because I had pissed off my father or been caught sassing my mother. Those were dark times."

Unable to stop the riotous laughter that escaped from within him, Jean imagined a young Marco racing through colonial streets like some juvenile deviant with his old man hot on his heels. He had guessed that the guy was a little punk when he was a kid. Was probably the class clown too knowing him and his inability to put a lid on his sarcasm. In the short time they had known each other and the even shorter time since they had really known one another--with everything out in the open and no guises on--Jean had come to learn three things about Marco. First was that the man was an asshole but only when he wasn't being a complete nerd who's idea of light reading was thumbing through A Brief History Of Time by Stephen Hawking or a comic book from his expansive collection that he kept "hidden" in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. Second was that he actually did have a kind heart under that cocky exterior and, lastly, that he was more awkward than he let on.

Jean didn't have any doubts that Marco had shared his embarrassing childhood memories in an attempt to lighten the mood. It was probably because every other time the man had tried using his words to better the situation he had either made it worse or said it in a way that came off as flippant. So he did his best to make Jean feel better in one of the few ways he knew would work. It took a brave man to humiliate himself for the sake of others and a kind one to do it for someone he hadn't any personal attachment or emotional investment in.

Watching Marco as he sang along to the next song--"Remember The Time" by Michael Jackson--without a care in the world, Jean could feel his heart crack just a little bit more. Since he had first laid eyes on the man he knew it was only a matter of time before he tripped a fell for him. Only a matter of time before this awkward yet beautiful creature captured him with those spellbinding eyes, bubbling laughter, and devious smirk and destroyed him.

Jean knew it was foolish falling for someone so out of his league; pointless because there was no way Marco would be interested in someone one-seventh his age that caused more trouble than he was worth yet he couldn't stop himself. The young man had been told before that he had terrible luck so he just rolled with it and admired the loveliness of the brunettes profile while keeping his thoughts to himself.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eren was wrapping up with washing the dishes when he heard a knock at the door. The sound was firm yet, if it could have been personified, was almost timid in its pitch and volume. Cutting through the cold autumn chill that hung in the hallways and filled the space around him, it was as unexpected as the rain that morning. With a sigh, the young man turned off the water, looked down at the drain, and sighed. He knew who was waiting for him on the other side of that door. Knew before they had even knocked that they'd come around; if not that day then soon on another day.

Drying his hands with a clean hand towel, the brunette walked through the quiet space of the downstairs living area; passing through the dining room and living room before making it to the foyer. Taking another deep breath Eren opened the door, eyes landing almost immediately on Levi; the two inch height difference showing as the older man had to tilt his head up just a fraction to look Eren in the eyes. They were silent for a moment; too nervous to speak, to add potentially dangerous words to the conversation they were about to have. Stepping to the side, Eren allowed him in.

Quietly though not without a morsel of gratitude, Levi entered the warm entryway. It was still cold inside but warmer compared to the hateful chill that sliced through everything it touched outside. Eren didn't speak a word but he didn't have to in order to get his point across. He could feel the brunette's frustration and lingering displeasure in the space between them. Could feel it as if it were a blade cutting through him. Could sense it in the way his eyes followed him as Levi tracked into the living room where it was warmer.

Turning around, Levi looked into those deep swirling pools of emerald green that were just as haunting as the day he had first seen them three years ago. Those enchanting eyes that had bewitched him long ago, had broken down every wall he had ever built to keep people out, were now regarding him with cold indifference. This did not feel right. This wasn't the Eren Levi knew; not the Eren he loved. But this was Levi's fault and he knew it. He had tried fixing it a week ago but the brunette wouldn't have any of it. Instead, Eren told him that he needed his space; didn't want to see him for a while and it was torture obliging his one request. 

Like nails raking beneath his skin at his nerves, the distance was maddening. They hadn't been separated from one another for any real period of time in over a year. They were so close which only led Levi more quickly into desolation. Just one week apart and he was a wreck; the shell of a human gutted of any and all joy. Licking his chapped lips as he searched for the right words, the older man couldn't stop the same four words from entering his head. He didn't really want to ask him what had been nagging at the back of his mind for days but the voices wouldn't go away if he left things the way they are. The doubts and uncertainties would just continue to build, eating him away piece by piece until there was nothing left.

"Do you hate me?" Levi asked; his throat tightening on the last word, barely able to choke the syllables out.

Face softening as if he were chiding him for ever thinking such a thing, Eren watched him from where he stood--propped up against the doorpost of the living room.

"No," Eren said gently. 

Levi already looked like he was about to fall apart. He was doing a good job at keeping himself together; always had been and was far better at playing stoic than Eren was. But the brunette could see the cracks in his mask. Watched as his mind processed the only word it had been given in response--analyzing it and question if he really meant that or was just saying it to spare them the pain of another fight. When their eyes met again, the anxiety in Levi's gaze had only intensified. His expression gave nothing away but his eyes had turned traitor.

He wasn't sure how to ask Eren what he was thinking without sounding like some loser but he didn't care. "Are you," Levi breathed, his stomach knotting from the fear. "Are we breaking up?"

Now it was Eren's turn to panic. "What made you think that?"

"We haven't spoken in over a week. You said you don't want to see me and--"

"I told you I needed my space." Shoving away from the doorpost, the young man ran his hands over his face then through his unruly cinnamon hair. "Levi, my best friend could have died in his sleep and you guys didn't tell me shit. You just gave me orders and told me to follow them."

"Erwin gave you the orders," Levi corrected him. "I didn't tell you to do anything."

"But you didn't do anything to help me either."

"That's because I could lose my job for it Eren!" Biting his lip at the outburst, Levi scolded himself for losing his temper. "There's a chain of command and I can't go against it no matter how much I want to. You know what Erwin is and what he's capable of."

"So you were covering your own ass."

"The fuck do I care about myself? I've been alive for over four hundred years. He couldn't kill me even if he wanted to at this point."

"Then what was it?"

"You! I was protecting you!" Staring into Eren's disbelieving eyes, Levi felt his heart beat out of his chest as if he were being eaten alive. "Please, you have to believe me. I would have told you everything if I could. I tried sharing what I know but then I was called into Erwin's office and told that he was putting me under observation. Look, I don't know the entire story about what's happening with Jean or what it has to do with the planes but please understand when I say that I'd tell you everything if I could. Whatever's going on is meant to stay classified until Erwin deems fit. Until then, I'm just his pawn and I don't want you getting caught up in this."

"Don't want me getting caught up in it? Jean's my friend. One of the closest things I have to a brother and you want me to do nothing?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. Eren, he has an entire team of trained huntsmen looking after him and one of the best as his warden. Now that Marco's dialed into Jean's frequency, he can't go anywhere in the world without him knowing about it. I promise you, we're doing all we can to protect him. But you have to trust me. I'm not doing this to hurt you."

"I know," Eren rasped, his voice becoming rough from the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. "I know you aren't but it still hurts. I feel like a kid when you don't trust me with your work."

"I do trust you Eren. You know me better than anyone else, both alive and dead." Closing the distance between them, Levi went to collect the young mans face into his hands but stopped; hesitated until Eren nudged the cool skin of his partners hand with the hot flushed round of his cheek. Cupping the brunette's face in his chilled hands, he stepped closer; their foreheads now pressed against each others. "I love you Eren. So much that it's terrifying at times but I'd do anything for you. I'd do anything and yet the one thing I want to do the most I can't because it'd put your life at risk and I'd rather die a million deaths than see you harmed. So please, please," Levi pleaded with strained emphasis on the last word," I need you to believe me Eren."

Closing his eyes as he took in a deep breath, Eren couldn't keep the fight up any longer. He was still angry at the FBSP for toying with him, for putting a watch on Jean without telling him why and for allowing that--that thing to harm him. But he couldn't do this anymore; couldn't stay angry at Levi because he was right. Erwin had been using them both so that he could keep tabs on Jean--Levi for obvious reasons and Eren because he was a touch-know. It was fucked up and the young man wanted to know more, wanted to punch that bushy brow jockstrap in the face and force him to tell him what was really going on, but that was a fight for another day and with another person. Now he had to work on fixing the doubt he had sewed in Levi's heart.

Taking the man's finely crafted face in his hands, Eren brought their lips together for the first time in ten days. In that moment, it felt as if he could breathe again; as if the fists squeezing the air from his lungs had relented and allowed the life to return to him. He couldn't tell who had started crying first--didn't really care in that moment. All that mattered was that they were okay. The fight hadn't broken them. It may have left a few chips and cracks but it was nothing they couldn't mend with the silent promises swapped between them in their needy embrace.

Grunting as the kiss turned from innocent and chaste to hungry and wanting, Eren had to fight to keep his mind working as Levi pressed him against the wall. Tangling his fingers in those dreamy black locks, the young man relinquished control to the burning touch of his lover. Ten days was too long. Felt like he had gone an eternity without feeling those hands skim down his sides, grip his hips as if they were holding onto life itself, and those tender lips that lovingly worked marks into his tanned skin. Ten days was too long to go without feeling Levi's weight against him, without making love until his voice was gone and energy diminished, without falling asleep to that beautiful face and having the unspeakable joy of getting to wake up to it. Ten days...? More like ten years.

"I missed you," Eren breathed as they ground together, no longer able to control themselves. They wanted more; needed more because it felt as if they'd die in that moment without it. "I love you Levi. I'd never let you go. Never let anyone else have you."

Levi could feel his heart race at the confession. "I love you more Eren." Kissing a trail up his neck--teeth playfully scraping over his Adam's apple--he kissed Eren's chin then bit his bottom lip before repossessing that beautiful mouth. "Don't let go of me. I can't do this without you anymore."

"You don't have to," the young man said between kisses. Moaning as their hardening lengths rubbed together, Eren buried his face into his lovers neck. "I promise, I'll never let you go. F-Fuck--!" Eren gasped as Levi ground against him roughly garnering enough friction to drag a shameless cry from his lips. "Levi, baby I need you right now. Please, I can't take this anymore."

"It's the same for me love," he growled from the hollow of Erens throat. "I want you so bad right now. Please, let me have you."

"You already have me. Now," the brunette huffed as he pulled away just enough so he could look Levi in the eyes; one hand knotted in the damp hair at the back of Levi's head. "Take me upstairs and fucking claim me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's some foreshadowing in the form of music and a little bit of retrospect too. Enjoy. ;)
> 
>  
> 
> *(They Long To Be) Close To You*  
> by The Carpenters
> 
>  
> 
> Why do birds suddenly appear  
> Every time you are near?  
> Just like me, they long to be  
> Close to you
> 
> Why do stars fall down from the sky  
> Every time you walk by?  
> Just like me, they long to be  
> Close to you
> 
> On the day that you were born  
> The angels got together  
> And decided to create a dream come true  
> So they sprinkled moondust in your hair of gold  
> And starlight in your eyes of blue
> 
> That is why all the girls in town (girls in town)  
> Follow you (follow you) all around (all around)  
> Just like me, they long to be  
> Close to you
> 
> On the day that you were born  
> The angels got together  
> And decided to create a dream come true  
> So they sprinkled moondust in your hair of gold  
> And starlight in your eyes of blue
> 
> That is why all the girls in town (girls in town)  
> Follow you (follow you) all around (all around)  
> Just like me, they long to be  
> Close to you
> 
> Just like me (just like me), they long to be  
> Close to you


	7. Clair de Lune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean meets his coven, Eren and Levi make up with each other, and Marco comes to a realization....
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> BONJOOOOUR!: Salut mes amis et beinvenue dans le septieme episode de la Nuit a Venir (Nighttime Coming)! I'm very excited to release this chapter because this marks the real start of the story. All the primary players will now have been introduced and the ball can finally get rolling on the fantasy portion of this adventure. This also marks a pivotal turning point in many relationships and in the next chapter we'll meet our primary antagonist. It's someone you already know but you won't get anything else out of me.
> 
> Bon alors, a tout a l'heure et bonne lecture!
> 
> -Mars <3

Driving up the long stretch of neatly kept road leading to the front stoop of the Biltmore Estate, Jean couldn't believe his eyes. The establishment, which he had heard of but never visited, was larger than he had expected; much much larger with some going as far as to say it was of titanic proportions. As grand as the French chateau's from which it drew inspiration and twice as elegant as anything any American had ever built, it stood in defiance to the the elements looking just as radiant as the day it had been completed.

At her center was a massive sprawling greenway with a grand circular fountain in the middle of the manicured lawn. To the left was a veil of matured trees behind which sat three more consecutive fountains in a rock garden. To the right, behind another screen of towering trees, were the stable houses and the tourist center where visitors bought their tickets. Towering above it all was the imposing alabaster facade of the Biltmore with it's copper roof, heavenly spires, and countless carved stone reliefs that gazed down upon those who crossed through her grand arches. 

However, despite it being peak tourist season with the estate dressed in its beautiful holiday trimmings and garlands, there wasn't a single visitor in sight save for Jean and Marco. No couples taking selfies with the chateau in the background or international travelers traversing the grounds with a translator device connected to the headset they had rented from the admissions booth. No families with screaming children throwing tantrums over how much they wanted to see the horses in the stable house or the cows at the dairy in the Biltmore Village. No, the only souls gracing the drive that morning was Jean and Marco; something the blonde considered to be very unusual when one took into account that it was also a holiday weekend and a Saturday no less.

Catching on to his skepticism, the brunette chuckled lowly while turning off the engine, though he left the keys on the dash. "The great-granddaughter of the family is my sister-in-law."

"No shit," Jean gawked; his eyes busy taking in the sheer scale and detail of the main building. "Wait," he paused. "You're sister-in-law? I thought you only had a sister."

"I do. She married the Vanderbilt's great-granddaughter." With a sly grin, Marco removed his overnight duffel from the car. "Didn't know that now did you?"

"No...no I did not. Jesus, if I were you I'd just live here and never work a day in my life."

"Yeah, and be bombarded with obnoxious tourists and be bored because there's nothing else to do once you've toured the entire estate."

"Shesh, you're a hard man to please."

"You have no idea," Marco mused with a bit of humor as they approached the main entrance.

Greeted by Francis, the head housekeeper, and Percival, the head valet, Marco hugged them both with a warm smile as they welcomed him "home." It was strange watching the interaction between them because Jean was so used to the man behaving awkwardly when approached with any form of affection that didn't come from his familiar. Given only a moment to ponder the exchange, the young man was urged to follow his warden. However, Jean didn't get very far before he was caught admiring the interior of the estate.

Gazing up at the ornate molding and flying buttresses and the little glimpse of the Winter Garden he could see from the reception hall, Jean couldn't recall what exactly they were there for. He was too enamored with the Biltmore and its perfect marriage of English and French architecture. It wasn't until he was forcefully removed from his reverie that he remembered there were others present.

Surprised when Marco took the young man's hand in his own, Jean was led down the vast yet oddly cozy gallery that paralleled the covered terrace. Lining the wall facing the windows were dozens of emerald green upholstered armchairs that were likely decades--centuries--older than he was. Hanging from the elegantly patterned walls in between ornate fireplaces were paintings of hunting excursions and portraits of the Vanderbilt family--their lifeless eyes following him as he passed by. Trying to keep up with Marco, Jean stumbled once over his feet--his gaze drifting upwards to the ceiling lined with dark wooden beams.

Reaching the end of the hall, the pair stopped just shy of the grand double French doors that remained closed before them. Jean took the time to collect his breath and steel himself for what was to come. He didn't know anyone in this coven yet had already been adopted in by its grand caster. The prospect of meeting them now and knowing so little about them while they knew a great deal about him was terrifying for lack of a better or more eloquent word.

"Ready?" Marco asked, giving the young mans hand a gentle squeeze.

"Not really. I don't really have a choice though do I?"

Marco just shook his head then pushed one of the large wooden doors open. Stepping inside, Jean did his best to stay focused on the task at hand although it was proving to be easier said than done. The library they had entered was more beautiful than any of the others he had seen before. No university, government establishment, or palace could compare to it. Carved from the same rich oak and timbers used throughout the house with a painted ceiling depicting a gathering of heavenly hosts, it welcomed visitors with a warmth that was uncanny for something so grand. Two stories high with a spiral staircase and rolling ladders attached to the shelves to reach the highest books, the space was illuminated by the intimate glow of gas lamps, sunlight from outside, and the comforting warmth from the crackling fire within the large intricately decorated fireplace.

Crowding the library was who Jean deduced to be the members of the New Saleem coven. And like the few witches he did know, they were all enchanting in their allure.

Standing by the fireplace were two blondes with ice blue eyes--one a woman with her long glittering hair pulled into a braided bun and the other a tall muscular man with short hair and a most intimidating presence. Sitting on the couch near them was a man tanner than both Eren and Marco with ridiculously long legs, kind brown eyes, and his golden cobra familiar draped across his shoulders indulging in the warmth of his honeyed skin. Next to him was a man with alabaster skin, blonde hair so fair it looked white, and familiar hazel eyes behind delicate wired glasses Jean could have sworn he had seen somewhere before.

No one moved or made an attempt to speak as Jean and Marco entered the library. Rather, the four members remained where they were while silently sizing up the newest addition to their ranks. When the quietness was broken it wasn't by any of them. Instead, a petite woman with glimmering golden blonde hair and deep blue eyes floated down the connecting hall that joined with the solarium wearing a bright smile that made her azure gaze sparkle.

"Marco," she called gleefully. Wrapping both slender arms around him, the woman gave him a kiss on his freckled cheek; a motion that stirred a hint of jealously in Jean's gut. "It's been ages since you last visited."

"Work has been a monster lately," the brunette said apologetically.

"Isn't it always?" Peeking over the mans shoulder, her smile broadened when her gaze landed on the young man shying away from the conversation. "Is this him?"

Nodding, Marco stepped to the side--putting Jean in full view of everyone else. "Krista, this is Jean Kirstein. Jean, this is Krista Historia Lenz, great-granddaughter of the Vanderbilt's and the second in command of the New Saleem coven."

Shaking her soft hand, Jean could hardly believe that she was powerful enough to command such a position. "It's a pleasure."

"Likewise. Normally my partner would be the one greeting new members but she seems to be---"

"I'm right here dearest," called a silken voice 

Eyes flickering to the spiral staircase that led to the second floor of the library and its hidden studies, Jean felt his heart slam in his chest and his back straighten when his gaze landed on the owner of the lovely voice. Gracefully descending from the top floor was a woman with freckled caramel skin, long silky dark brown hair brought into a ponytail the cascaded down her left shoulder, and hazel eyes so enchanting he could have fallen into them. Dressed in a pair of flowing black chiffon culottes, a loose black cashmere turtleneck sweater, and a pair of black point-toe heels, she was the image of sophistication, grace, and elegance. Following close behind was a white Turkish Angora cat with bright hazel eyes. 

Smiling as Marco kissed her on the cheek, the beauty hugged him with a type of warmth and affection that resembled that of a mothers. It was strange but as Jean looked between them, he could have sworn that they were twins even though almost everything about them was different to some extent. The energy between them was familiar and comfortable; he could feel it in the way they looked at one another. Turning to face the young man, the woman now had him caught in her dazzling silver gaze. 'Starlight,' Jean thought to himself as they shook hands. 'Her eyes look like starlight.'

"Jean, this is the leader of the New Saleem coven, Grand Caster Ymir Shoshanna Aloysia Lenz," Marco said with a spark of affection in his eyes.

Having almost forgotten what Marco had said earlier, the blonde quickly put two and two together. "O-Oh. It's a pleasure."

Ymir chuckled lightly. "Likewise. I also happen to be this brat's older sister."

So that was why they were looking at each other that way. "Well you two certainly look alike."

"A little." Ymir smirked while Marco rolled his eyes. "Anyhow, you must be tired from the ride up. How about we get you settled in, have lunch, and then we'll discuss what it means to be part of a coven. Sound good?"

Nodding, Jean could see why everyone seemed to like her. Ymir was kind, witty, and had a comforting presence that put the room at ease. If he was to be part of a coven, he was grateful to have someone like her at the helm.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

The dim early afternoon light danced across the floor as the air stirred with the sudden out pour of warmth coming from the air duct as the heating came on. Sleeping soundly beneath a heap of blankets, sheets and a duvet was Eren and Levi; their bare limbs tangled together and breaths coming and going in slow and steady takes. It was so warm in this little world that surrounded them. A slice of heaven shared between them that existed whenever they touched, made love, kissed, or looked into one another's eyes.

Cracking his eyes open as the rain started pattering against the roof and window outside, Levi observed Eren for a long moment; adoring the ruffled cinnamon bedhead and the faint strip of freckles that dotted across his nose and cheeks. With a quiet breath, he reached out and touched the edge of the young mans jaw, his fingers tracing the elegant line as if he were touching a dream. Heart filling with immeasurable love and adoration, Levi felt the urge to pull Eren closer--closer than they already were--so that he could feel his heart beating against his own, so that their skin warmed each others, and their limbs became even more entangled than the mess they were. He wanted to kiss every available inch of skin that had been lovingly painted gold by the sun and feel their cheeks rub together.

Scooting closer, Levi brushed the hair away from Eren's closed eyes. As his hand smoothed over the warm skin of his forehead, the man was caught suddenly by a sea of emerald green that regarded him with just as much love. Smiling through the grogginess, Eren reached out and wove their fingers together, letting them sit on the pillow space between them. It didn't matter how old he got or what time of day it was, the young man's smile was always a beautiful; his perfect white teeth peeking past his petal soft lips and eyes coming to life as it reached his cheeks.

"Morning," Levi breathed with a soft smirk of his own.

"Morning," Eren returned. Brushing the tips of their noses together, he then kissed his lover while still wearing that charming smile. "You sleep okay?"

Nodding, Levi pulled him in closer because holding his brat as tightly as possible was exactly what he needed right now. "Like a dream. Let's never fight like that again, 'kay. I missed you too much."

"Mmm," the brunette hummed as he traced the line of his lover's spine with his ear resting over the mans heart. "Agreed. I missed you too; couldn't sleep without you around."

Snorting a short laugh, Levi let himself be dragged closer into Eren until they were flush against one another. It was so peaceful, lying there wrapped up in the arms of the person he adored the most. Smiling as the brunette traced the soles of his pale feet with his tan toes--their ankles bumping together as he did--Levi closed his eyes listening to the rain mix with the gentle unhurried sound of their breathing. With both eyes drooping shut, he inhaled the fresh summery scent of the young mans shampoo. Nuzzling his face into the tousled cinnamon waves that crowned Eren like a halo, he relished how soft they were and how the strands seemed to tickle his cheeks like thousands of whisper light feathers.

He didn't want to get up and greet the day. Didn't want to leave the cocoon of crumpled blankets and sheets. Didn't want to wash the scent of Eren's skin from his or cover up the marks across his body with clothes. Levi wanted to stay in bed with his partner all day, binge watch some show on Netflix and fool around when the mood struck them. He wanted to hold onto Eren--tangle their hands together and listen to music and argue over whose generation had it right with Levi usually winning since he'd been around the longest. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to be selfish and lock them away so that no one else could have his Eren. He wanted to keep him all to himself but unfortunately the young man had a Saturday class that would be starting in two hours.

Kissing the brunettes flawless forehead, Levi pressed his cheek against the smooth skin. "When do you graduate again?"

"In a year. Why?"

Groaning, the older man held onto his partner who had begun to chuckle. "Next semester, try not to take any weekend classes."

"Why? You miss me that much?" Eren smirked as he peeked up at Levi; his brilliant green eyes swimming with a playful adoration.

"Yes." It was a statement--a fact without question. Tilting his head down, Levi captured his lovers plump lips in his, sighing happily when the kiss deepened. "I always miss you when you aren't around," he breathed against corner of Eren's mouth when they parted before kissing the beauty mark that sat just above the upturned lip.

"Are you trying to make me cry?" the brunette chuckled with glassy eyes. He always was so easily moved.

Thumbing away a tear, Levi kissed the skin it had been trailing down. "No. I'm just being honest. You're the love of my life Eren and I'm pretty sure the only reason I was kept alive for so long was so that I could meet you."

"Great, now you've gone and done it," Eren joked as the tears came freely. "You're the love of my life too Levi so you don't have to worry about me going anywhere, even if it's to class for a couple of hours. I'll always come back to you."

"Promise?"

Pressing their foreheads together, Eren kissed the tip of his perfect nose then smiled. "I promise."

Smiling back since he couldn't manage anything else when those beautiful eyes were fixed on him, Levi trailed his fingers down Eren's spine with one hand while the other toyed with his untamed hair.

"How about I pick you up after class and we have a date-night in? You can do your homework while I make dinner then we'll watch something together. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect."

"Good."

"Good," Eren beamed. Cupping his mans' face in his warm hands, the brunette smiled. "Love you Levi."

"I love you too Eren," he said in between soft pecks to his cheeks. "My perfect brat."

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It soon came to Jean's attention that belonging to a coven was akin to being part of the Rat Pack sans the womanizing and excessive smoking. All members were close friends, wealthy in their own right--Krista making most of her money as an attorney rather than as an heiress, and they knew how to tell a story with one killer punch-line to tie the whole thing together. After dinner and dessert, the coven retired to the game parlor for a few rounds of drinks, billiards, and some good ol' fashion trash talking about one another though it was all done out of love.

As he attempted to hold onto the little dignity he had left while losing his second game of pool to Annie, the platinum blonde with shocking blue eyes, Jean silently worked out everyone's stories in his head. Grabbing his glass of brandy, he excused himself to go sit down. Bertholt, who was whipping up another round of cocktails, was a dreamcasting witch and the groups' healer, hence the snake. He was married for five years to his longtime partner Annie who was a lunar casting witch like her mammoth brother, Reiner. Both siblings had dog familiars--the sister with a black German Pinscher named Diesel and the brother with a Doberman named Edelweiss.

Kicking ass in darts even after five drinks was Zeke Yeager who, as chance would have it, was Eren's distant uncle and cursed with immortality like Levi was. A scientist in his "spare time", the man had five bachelor degrees, six masters, and three Ph.D's in biology, nuclear physics, and molecular physics. Apparently he had met Levi and Marco when they had been caught by the Nazi's while on a government mission--Operation Ino. The three bonded in between the horrific experiments they were subjected to and, once they were freed, worked together in the same department at the FBSP. 

The only thing left of those times were the numbers tattooed on their forearms, the countless scars from the injections, and the sore memories that cropped up once in a while. However, whenever the flashbacks got to be too much, Zeke's familiar Unna--a golden-headed lion tamarin--would curl up neck to him and groom his hair until the nightmares faded. His wife, Liesel, had even joked in a previous gathering that the monkey was actually Zeke's wife and that she was the other woman.

Krista, who had to leave the soiree early to catch up on paperwork, was not only the great-granddaughter of the Vanderbilts but a hardened DA with more fight in her than a prize boxer in their prime. She was a self-made millionaire a dozen times over that doted on her wife relentlessly. Showering her partner with lavish gifts, month long exotic trips every year for their anniversary, and all the affection she possessed, Krista set the bar impossibly high for anyone else to compete with.

Following her everywhere she went was her familiar, a golden slender mongoose named Masoud. The two had met days after her claiming on a family trip to Marrakesh. As she was strolling through a large bazaar near the city center, Krista, who had just turned twelve, heard a voice call to her down an empty alleyway. Abandoning her parents, the young woman followed it until she reached the Jardin Majorelle. Wandering through the fanciful botanical paths, she ignored any adult that asked her where her parents were or if she was lost. Following the voice as it grew louder in her head, she stopped at the edge of a large lily pond where a mongoose with blonde fur and twinkling amber eyes sat on a blue mosaic bench staring up at her with a fondness she had seen in no other creature. From that moment on, they were attached at the hip much like Sibylla was with Jean.

"I couldn't even get within a foot of Krista when we first started dating before Masoud would snap at me," Ymir joked as she and Marco sat on a couch by the fireplace drinking their brandy. "He was so protective of her; still is. Whenever she's upset with me I end up sleeping in the guest room while he guards the master bedroom with his life. He's even bitten me a couple of times; still have the marks to prove it."

Snorting a laugh when she showed him the bite mark on her thumb from the night Ymir came to pick Krista up for their first date, Jean struggled to hold back his liquor. He knew familiars were protective of their witches--well, now he did after Ymir had explained the basics to him over dinner--but Masoud was downright obsessed with his person. He gave everyone a death glare if they got too close to Krista; going as far as to attack people he really didn't like. Oddly enough, the only ones he had ever bitten were sitting there next to him.

"Do you think it has anything to do with the curse on you and Marco?" Jean asked and immediately regretted it when he heard his own question spoken aloud. "Sorry, I shouldn't have--"

"It's fine," Ymir said without any malice. "It probably does have to do with the curse on us. Familiars usually attach danger to the aura's of cursed individuals so it would only be natural that Masoud would react so strongly toward me. Marco's doubly screwed though because he's a dark-casting witch like our mother so white witch familiars are more inclined to dislike him."

"If you don't mind my asking, were both of your parents..." the young man trailed off hoping that they'd understand his question.

"If you're asking if they were both witches, that'd be a yes. Marco and I are kind of the result of some freak experiment that 'shouldn't' have happened."

"What do you mean?"

Clearing his throat Marco chimed in. "Usually white witches don't enter unions with dark-casting witches. Back in the day when we were young, the covens called it 'dirtying the waters' because white casters were supposedly pure and wholesome whereas dark casters were sullied and flawed. After the Salem Witch Trials, most dark casters were hated and blamed for the chaos that had happened. At one point we were nearly hunted to extinction so for the two to cross lines and enter into a union was unheard of."

"Ah, I see," Jean said, unsure of what else he could say to that. "So you're mother was a dark-casting witch and your father was a white caster?"

"Mhmm," Ymir hummed as she took a sip from her drink. "Marco's almost exactly like our mother in both magic and spirit; feisty to the very core. He even learned white magic like she did so that he could be of more use on the field during the Civil War."

"I didn't know that," the blonde smiled with a subtle look of astonishment on his face as he turned his gaze toward the brunette. "I thought it was impossible to do both."

"It is, for most," the sister said. Watching the expression of admiration grow on the young mans face as he regarded her brother, she discreetly arched a brow. "There's a few things he's better at than I am since his dark-casting type overlaps with lunar casting. He's also what the community calls a 'cleaner' since his presence keeps away most malevolent denizens."

Staring at Marco with a look of awe and disbelief, Jean wondered if that's why he felt so at ease around Marco. "Huh, go figure. Maybe that's why you have such a long client list."

"Yeah, I may be a cleaner but your pension for attracting trouble has been keeping me on my toes for the past couple of months," Marco quipped doing his best to stifle the blush threatening to crop up across his cheeks. "You're like a vortex for it."

"What he means is 'thank you for the compliment,'" Ymir told the blonde in a low tone though her sibling could still hear them. Flipping her wrist over, her eyes widened a bit when she saw the time. "It's that late already?" Looking up at Marco, Ymir sighed. "I have to turn in for the night. It's almost eleven-fifty and tomorrow's the celebration which means an early morning for me."

Reaching up as she rose, Marco hugged her tight; his eyes closing and a smile dimpling his cheeks as they embraced one another. "Night Mimi." Then, letting her go, he gave her familiar a gentle scratch behind the ears. "And goodnight to you Pangur Ban."

Kissing Marco on the forehead one last time, she waved farewell to everyone. "Night everyone. See you in the morning and pleasant All Saint's Eve to you."

Touching their foreheads then lips in unison, everyone except for Jean--who remained clueless--then said, "And pleasant All Saint's Eve unto you."

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Marco could feel himself stirring in his sleep as the nightmares fought to encroach on his pleasant dreams. He could sense it tugging at the edges of the astral planes as he traversed the medium between sleep and the dream world. Whispers came on the winds; soft cries and muddled screams for help from eons ago. Breath hitching in his throat as he stopped midway down the grand drive in spirit form with the near full moon shining down over him, Marco looked over his shoulder when he heard the familiar voice of a women call out to him.

Staring at the treeline cast in silver light as his gaze surveyed the forest, he could have sworn he had heard... No, it had been almost a century since he had last thought of her. It must have been a distorted memory of his mother breaking past the dreaming planes. Yet when the voice called a second time--now much more clear--Marco's heart froze and his eyes glassed over. Turning around slowly, he saw her. Just as lovely as he remembered with the pale moonlight casting beams off her crown of glittering blonde hair and alabaster skin was the only human to have broken his heart.

"Renee?" Marco breathed; voice barely above a whisper as he watched her smile back at him.

As he reached for her, the specter burst into thousands of tiny blue butterflies that fluttered up toward the moon. Immediately after he was ejected from the astral planes and his own slumbering mind. With a gasp, Marco shot up--drenched in a cold sweat with both hands knotted into the sheets. It had been over seventy years since he had last thought of Renee; and even more since her passing in 1916. Why her specter was haunting his dreams when she was clearly in a better place was beyond him. But it was enough to twist his stomach into knots and jolt him just enough that it'd unhinge that secret part of his heart that was still as delicate as the day they had first met.

Wiping away the traitorous tears that had fallen without his permission with a small sniffle, Marco climbed out of bed. Slipping on his boots and wool sweater, he told Barron that he was going on a stroll. The feline eyed him up and down for a moment, wondering it it should protest but decided in the end that it was best to give his person some space. He didn't look right; looked as if he'd seen a ghost and needed to walk it off. So the cat remained where it was--nestled in the pillows of the king size bed--and watched with a hint of concern as Marco left.

Wandering down the halls as quietly as he could, Marco knew he needed to get away; that he needed fresh air more than anything in that moment. He was practically suffocating in the overwhelming heat of the grand manor. Shiver rushing down his spine as he hurried downstairs with his fingers barely brushing the banister, he hurried as quickly as he could as though some unknown presence were ushering him toward the door. He felt stifled and incomplete; as if a part of him had been stolen when he was ejected from the dream and now he had to go retrieve his missing half.

Pushing open the large front door, Marco immediately took in a deep breath then exhaled; watching the puffs of hot white air waft away from him. It had began to snow while everyone was asleep and now the blanket was half a foot deep. The flowers and hanging vines of wisteria were crusted over with ice, turning them into natural jewels that decorated the gardens with an array of crystalline blue, violet, yellow, and pink. Closing his eyes as he tilted his head up toward the sky, Marco could finally relax. He never could adapt to the energy of the Biltmore. It was overpowering and oppressive in many ways; ways Ymir would never understand because she was a white-casting witch and the energy harmonized with hers.

Breathing easy, Marco smiled as snowflakes landed on his eye lashes, cheeks, nose, and hair. But then, something much different from a flake dusted across his cheek. Eyes fluttering open, he glanced to the side only to spot a lone blue butterfly; a swallowtail to be exact. Staring at it for a moment, the brunettes legs slowly went into motion. Propelling him forward, he tailed it across the vast flower garden of frozen tulips, daffodils, and irises. 'She couldn't still be here,' he thought as he chased after the creature dancing through the chilly evening air. 'She's already gone from here.' Yet still, he pursued; the thought of seeing her one last time both breaking his heart while simultaneously sending it high above the clouds.

Making a right at the gazebo covered in hanging wisteria, the brunette as jogging through the now heavy downfall of snow. Feet touching the stone slab of the walkway that bordered the cliff side, he stared out across the forested expanse. Covered in white frost, it was so beautiful and silent save for the few echoes of chattering coming from below. 'The faerie folk must be out already,' he mused quietly as two then three yellow orbs of light appeared in the dense vegetation. As he gazed over the forest, the butterfly returned to him, flying a short track around him before fluttering off to his left.

'Jean?' he thought when his eyes landed on the young man standing under the shelter of the stone gazebo with a plaid throw blanket draped across his shoulders. He didn't look real to Marco; too beautiful to be something other than a figment of his imagination. His pale skin was painted silver by the moonlight and his lips had turned the faintest shade of pink. Snowflakes clung to the tips of his flaxen hair and lashes; lashes that flickered toward him when Jean heard the faint footsteps off to his right.

"It's a little late to be touring the gardens, don't you think?" Marco said, his mind automatically reverting to sarcasm because he was too bewitched to manage anything else. Standing inches away from the blonde, he stared out across the terraced gardens and forest. "Did you have another nightmare?"

Shaking his head with a content smile, Jean's expression brightened a little when he saw the confused look on the brunettes face. "It was too quiet. I usually sleep with my windows open so I can hear the noise from outside but it's too cold up here." Rubbing his palms over his forearms, the blonde took a long sideways glance at Marco. "What about you?"

"Bad dream," he admitted while leaning against the stone wall. "Something I hadn't dreamt about in years came back for me so I came out here for some air."

"That bad huh?"

Marco nodded with a short low hum. He didn't know why he was telling Jean any of this; why he continued to peel back the layers he had adorned over the years with the sole purpose of protecting his weak heart. What was it about the young man that made him want to reach out and lean into his light? Why, of all people, was it this trouble magnet that couldn't remember his manners to save his life? Trying his best to keep his gaze from landing anywhere except for on Jean, Marco found himself failing miserably.

Jean was so breathtaking, it quite literally robbed him of air when their eyes met; the snow playing a distant second to his beauty. If only Marco could find a way to pause time and make this moment last forever. If only he could touch that gorgeous visage that regarded him with both humor and a shade of embarrassment. Why was Jean blushing? Was he making a strange expression? Was there something on him? Maybe a butterfly was caught in his hair and he hadn't noticed. Whatever it was, he realized in that moment that he was up to his neck in trouble now because the one thing he wanted was the one thing he couldn't have.

"Are you okay? You keep staring at me like something's wrong," the blonde noted; his voice as soft as the snow. Reaching up, Jean skimmed his fingers over the fine line of Marco's jaw. "You're freezing," he breathed out as a whisper.

"And you're warm," Marco answered just as quietly as he nuzzled into the heat of Jean's palm.

Cold lips grazing the smooth skin of the young mans hand, it took everything in him not to kiss the hand the touched him so tenderly; to not leave a trail of feather light kisses along his wrist and neck until their lips met. Took everything in him not to let himself be torn apart at the seams then reassembled in Jean's amber eyes. Took all he had and then some not to capture this man in his arms and claim him. Breathing out a heavy sigh, Marco felt the slender fingers dance along his jaw and play with the damped tresses of his hair.

"You really are beautiful," Jean whispered.

Eyes opening to the sight of Jean's soft pained smile, Marco's rationality cracked. He didn't know what would happen after this or how he'd play it off so that Jean wouldn't get hurt when he told him it was a mistake. But what he did know was that, in that moment, he needed him more than air; needed him like the flowers needed the sun. Leaning in Marco stole those lips he had been dying to taste once more; pressed them together with his while both hands cradled Jean's head. Deepening the embrace as their mouths opened up to one another, the brunette sighed happily when he felt the warmth of Jean's tongue brush over his. Tangling his fingers in his flaxen hair while the blonde wrapped both arms around his neck for support, they molded against each other like two puzzle pieces slotting into place.

Jean was intoxicating in his sweetness and the heat of his tongue and lips contrasted the cold of the snow and wind perfectly. Marco had never felt so content; so perfectly at peace in someones arms, never, not once. It were as thought he were coming home to the warmth of his family and the promise of shelter after a long bitter journey. His heart slammed against his ribs, struggling to break free as it deepened again; them opening up completely to each other as if they were lovers being reunited after years apart. 

He wanted Jean. Knew it in that moment which was why it was going to be all the more heartbreaking letting him go. Marco was cursed; doomed to live God only knew how long while the people he cared for died like flames in the wind. He didn't want to feel that pain again. Knew he wouldn't survive it this time like he had when Renee had passed because Jean was making him feel so much more alive than his previous lover had. But his greedy heart weakened by years of solitude cried out. It begged him to try one last time to be happy; to allow himself this one reprieve. But how could he do that in good conscious when it'd only hurt Jean in the end? 

One day, the man in his arms would grow old and the life burning in his beautiful eyes would be snuffed out by death's hateful grasp. When that happened, he'd be alone again and Jean will have spent his years with someone that couldn't follow him into the afterlife wherever that may be. So despite his hearts selfishness, despite its yearning and desire to keep Jean, Marco parted with eyes still closed, licked his lips to savor the remnant of taste the blonde left behind, and told himself to let go.

"We should go back inside," Marco rasped, his eyes still closed. "You'll catch a cold if stay out here."

"You okay?" Jean asked; his voice so kind and caring it cut through the brunette more than the cold ever could. Smoothing the hair away from his forehead, the young man looked him over. "You look a little pale."

"I'm alright." It was a lie and he knew Jean knew he was lying; they were already so transparent to each other after just a couple of weeks together. Eyes opening, he forced a smile as he took the blonde's hand in his; kissing the knuckles one last time before he'd have to say goodbye to this comfort. "Come on, lets head in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since these guys will be important later on, I thought I'd include a special section dedicated to the familiars and their masters. Each has a reason for its physical form and its name. I'll leave the investigating to you my freaky darlings. So here, from me to you, is the Familiars List.
> 
> **FAMILIAR/WITCH CHEAT SHEET**
> 
> -Ymir S. A. Lenz, white casting-->Pangur Ban, white Turkish Angora cat  
> -Marco V. A. Bott, dark casting-->Barron, black Bombay cat (morphs)  
> -Jean P. Kirstein, white casting-->Sibylla, red fox (morphs)  
> -Krista H. Lenz, white casting-->Masoud, yellow slender mongoose  
> -Kat van Arcadi, dark casting-->Bartok, black panther (morphs)  
> -Levi B. Ackerman, dark casting-->Medea, black Bombay cat (morphs)  
> -Reiner H. Braun, white casting-->Edelweiss, Doberman Pinscher  
> -Annie Leonhart-Hoover, white casting-->Diesel, German Pinscher  
> -Bertholt A. Hoover, white casting-->Jayashri, golden Indian cobra  
> -Zeke A. Yeager, white casting-->Unna, golden-headed lion tamarin  
> -Mercy Faith Elizabeth Goody-Bott, dark casting-->Ayasha, Canada grey jay (morphs)  
> -Heinrich Constantine Bott, white casting-->Ranulf, white gray wolf (morphs)
> 
> **Note that this list is incomplete since more witches are yet to be introduced.


	8. Putting Out Fire (Pt.I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Marco work their first big case together which puts both of the men to the test in more ways than one....
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> OKAY....: So these next couple of chapters are going to be a bit of a rollercoaster for you guys and there will be moments when you want to chew me out but, please, remember that it won't stay the way it is and all the little kinks and obstacles between our main characters will be straightened out. Trust me. 'Kay?
> 
> -Mars

Tossing the case file onto the hardwood of his dark oak desk, Marco eyed it with more than a hint of suspicion. Never in his hundred-some-odd years of service with the FBSP had a nephilim needed assistance protecting themselves. Wielders of a power greater than any grand caster, they could often handle themselves just fine if the need ever arised which was precisely why he didn't like this new case; aptly named CASE: Celeste. Taking a drag from his cigarette--the long build of ash slumping at the end of it waiting to be flicked off--the witch loomed over the case file as if he were about to interrogate it. 'This isn't right,' he thought to himself. Even worse was that it called for two agents and both he and Jean had been requested by name by the client. 'Why would they want a novice white witch on the investigative team? Unless they know that he's a plane's walker...'

Over the last two months, numerous revelations regarding Jean's abilities had come to light. First was that he was indeed a plane's walker and, secondly, that he could manipulate the energy fields within dreams, therefor effecting the unconscious state of those around him. He was a paranormal vortex which contradicted Marco's "cleaner" abilities. On top of that he was a seer, a sensor, and possessed both soul and lunar casting abilities. For Marco, it was a nightmare figuring out the paperwork for the kid and filing the correct slips took him the better half of November to do. And by the time that had been accomplished, Jean had started asking Levi and Marco to teach him dark casting so that he'd be of better use while they were in the field on assignments.

"That brat should learn to walk before he tries to sprint," Marco mumbled to himself under his breath. 

Eyes flickering up to the desk adjacent to his on the opposite side of the office atop which sat framed photo's of Jean's family and a cutesy picture of Sibylla asleep with her legs stretched out and tongue peeking past her lips, the brunette wondered when his new partner would arrive. It was rare for an agent to be teamed with two partners but since the kid was new and was still--technically--his ward, he had been saddled up with Marco. At first it had been nothing but a drag; like having a sack of lead weights tied to his throat after being told to run a mile. But Jean was a fast learner with stunning magical aptitude and took to his new environment with ease. He even got Roz to laugh on his fourth day there. Now the grumpy old troll called him "sugar" and had coffee waiting for him every morning. Marco had worked there for close to two hundred years and she hadn't so much as given him an orange to bite on when he was sick. But it wasn't like anyone could blame her.

Jean was personable, charming, and his dry sense of humor blended well with the sarcastic and sardonic wit around the office. Whether it was the result of working as a barista or just his natural personality, Marco couldn't say. But the blonde had already won over the hearts of half of the female staff, especially their secretary, Leisel. The poor faery had no idea that the kid batted for home team. Even if she did, chances were she wouldn't care and would continue on with her infatuation. 

Brushing his fingers over his lips with the cigarette sitting in the ashtray where it quickly died, Marco could still remember the tantalizing silken touch of Jean's lips, the heat of his mouth as they opened up to each other, and the sweet taste he left on his tongue. It had been five weeks and some change since the exchange with the brunette sticking to his guns though with great reluctance. Contrary to popular belief, witches actually became more physically alluring once they had been claimed; something having to do with their bodies being made anew by the new flow of energy coursing through them which cut back on how quickly they aged. He was handsome to begin with. But now it was getting a little ridiculous how gorgeous he had become. Even more frustrating was that the kid wasn't even aware of it.

One hand shoved into his pant pocket while the fingers of the other raked through his hair at the nape of his neck, Marco let go of a deep slightly annoyed sigh. He needed to stop thinking about Jean; this being something he told himself at least three to four times a day. His fixation was bordering on obsession; not like the brat would notice. That guy was as oblivious as a brick wall with the flirting capability of a cactus. 'Kinda like Kat on one of her human days,' Marco smirked to himself at the thought. A moment later, the knob turned and the office door swung open. 'Speak of the devil...'

"You're late," Marco said flatly as Jean entered looking more frazzled than usual. 'Maybe it's because of school.'

"Yeah, sorry. I got caught up studying for my finals and forgot I had work today and slept through my alarms."

"Knew it."

Catching the smirk in his tone, Jean looked up to see Marco slumping down into the padded leather couch between their desks. "You seem cranky."

"Just tired is all. Anyway, we've got a case and it's going to blow."

"Have you even looked inside the file?"

"I don't need to," Marco said matter-of-factly with a yawn. Catching the subtle scent of woody musk with a hint of something softer, possibly green tea, Marco arched a brow with both eyes closed. "You changed your body wash?"

Turning, the blonde stared down at his partner's face with an almost disbelieving look about him. "How do you even know that?"

"You were passing by and I noticed you smell different."

"What are you, a bloodhound?"

"Whatever, just read the file so that we can go over the plan in detail."

As Jean busied himself with reading up on their new case, Marco cracked his eyes open just a bit so that he could steal another glance at the young man. Since the kiss they shared on All Saint's Eve, he couldn't tear his mind away from him. Couldn't stop wanting him, dreaming about him--dreams which were so vivid it were as if Jean were right there in bed with him; couldn't stop but was too afraid to act on what his heart knew he wanted. 

The young man had gotten close, too close that he had snuck past the high walls in Marco's heart without his even noticing. They were so often at each other's side that it felt strange going on his own to check in on clients and wards on his own. How many lunches and dinners had they spent together? How many nights had he awoken from a deep sleep--heart pounding and drenched in a cold sweat--looking to the side half expecting to see Jean laying there beside him? So many nights he could have sworn he felt the blonde's warm body press into his, tangle their hands together, and whisper sweet nothings as his perfect pale fingers traced aimless circles over his tanned skin. So many nights had he dreamt of them falling into a mad flurry of flushed skin, heated kisses, and sweat. Marco had never experienced desire this strongly before. Had never restrained himself so desperately that it was physically painful at times.

Eyes dancing along his tall lean form, Marco felt the seed of guilt in his chest ache. He had no right to want someone when he couldn't keep his last lover alive. He had no right yet it didn't stop him from silently wishing that he could let go of it all and just take him the way he wanted. In the past month, they had become something between partners and "partners" without the physical intimacy purely out of circumstance. The nightmares had slowly returned as the brunette had expected they would and became worse as time progressed. Last Friday had been the most horrific of the encounters with Marco barely making it to Jean's house in time to stop the beldame from choking the life out of him. And while the blonde didn't seem to think about it much, every so often Marco would catch him brushing his fingers over the scar her claws had left right under his left earlobe--slicing his tattoo of the bible words "This too shall pass" in half.

Since that night, Marco couldn't sleep soundly without knowing that Jean was okay. So, against Barron's wishes, he sent out a little piece of himself; a fragment of his soul in the form of a common rose red swallowtail butterfly that could watch over the young man when he couldn't. It was because of this that the beldame hadn't returned. His presence was felt so intensely by the malicious hag that it kept her at bay. But all things regarding the soul had their downside; a payment that must be exchanged regardless of whether the user is a white witch or a dark witch. 

Energy levels slowly depleting like a well being pumped dry, Marco could feel his vitality slipping each day that he continued with this shield. It wasn't too bad right now; nothing a few extra naps throughout the day couldn't fix. But eventually it would come to a point where he'd need to stop or he'd risk falling into a coma or "stasis" as witches called it. However, the moment he lifted his protective seal around the blonde, Jean would be vulnerable to the beldame once more. He needed to keep this up. Needed to stop that wretch from getting what she wanted even if it meant suffering a few horrific flashbacks in his sleep and the occasional mood swing. He had to; there was too much at stake for him not to do this. 'What to do, what to do...' he pondered as his eyes fluttered shut. Marco could feel his consciousness slipping when there was a soft brush across his forehead; a gentle pressure that was similar to a kiss being pressed to his head.

"Hey," Jean spoke, his voice cutting through the darkness like a beacon calling Marco home. "Are you alright? Your forehead's a little hot and you look paler than usual."

Eyes opening just to be greeted immediately by a flood of gold, Marco's breath hitched in his throat. "I'm fine. Couldn't sleep last night is all."

Glancing to Barron who gave his usual impassive glare with a slight flick of the tail, the blonde knew he was lying. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Now quit fussing over me like I'm some sick child."

Taking a step back as the brunette sat up, Jean knew immediately that something was amiss. Marco was crass, short tempered at times, and had a foul mouth when he wasn't minding his manners but over the past month or so he had softened up to Jean; had become sweeter and more genuine after the talk they had first had when the blonde came to terms with what he was. They had gotten close, so close that there were nights where it felt as if Marco were in his room fondly watching over him. There were more days now that they spent cracking jokes and laughing together rather than arguing like they did in the beginning. There were more lunches with just them eating at Sumo Galaxy Ramen over in Raleigh, more secrets shared, more inside jokes passed between them... They had become more to each other but still, some communication barriers persisted; ones Jean couldn't get past. Not yet at least.

"So it's just you and I handling this case?" Jean asked deciding it was better to change subjects before Marco's mood turned.

"Yeah."

"Doesn't sound like a good idea considering that we're going up against a homicidal shape shifter who's trying to take out a senator."

"I never said it was a good plan, just that that's the plan," Marco sighed, his voice trailing as he dragged both hands over his face then combed them through his tousled brown hair. "How confident are you in your binding spell?"

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"Sure, with ten being the best."

Looking at the ceiling fan for a moment, Jean weighed his answer before speaking. "Probably a six to a seven."

"I need a straight answer Jean."

"Six and a half?"

"Jean!"

"Alright , alright. Then a seven. Shesh. Why do you want to know?"

"Because there's a burn notice out for Loic Aude. Did you miss that when you were reading over the file?" When Jean only stared back at him with shock in his eyes and mouth ajar, Marco sighed. "He's part of an assassination group called Visage. All members are shape-shifters or doppelgangers. Their targets are primarily politicians, important figures in society like activists, and big name business men and women. They got their start during the Civil War around the same time I began working for the FBSP so they've been around for a while and know exactly what their doing."

"Why would they be targeting Senator Daughtry?" Jean pondered aloud as he picked the file back up and re-read the briefing.

"Think Jean. He's the majority whip in the house of representatives and the US ambassador to Russia and France. If a member of Visage were to replace him..."

"They could dismantle the entire house of representatives from the inside out," Jean finished the sentence as everything finally clicked. "Holy shit, their going to try to reshape the political system."

"Now you've got it."

"Dude, why the fuck would they want a new guy on the job like me?"

"It doesn't make any sense to me either but that was their request. It probably has something to do with your dual status as a lunar and soul casting witch. Your abilities don't rely on just one medium so you can pull energy from two wells rather than being limited to a single source."

"Fair enough. So what's the plan? The file says Daughtry's hosting a gala at The Jefferson in Virginia on Sunday to kick off his campaign. There's got to be a reason that was included."

Smirking crookedly with a devious glint in his deep eyes, Marco chuckled low in his throat. "I hope you own a tux."

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Pulling up to the famed marble facade of The Jefferson Hotel, Jean could feel a foreboding shiver race up his spine. Had someone told him four months ago that this was how he'd be starting his winter break, he wouldn't have believed them; likely would have called them crazy. However, here he was walking up the steps of the elegant main entrance with a bellhop carrying his and Marco's bags behind them. Greeted immediately by the startling extravagance of the lobby--all towering pillars of veined marble with ornate detail work, crystal lamps, and a ceiling of Tiffany inspired stained glass--he could not find words to properly fit how in awe he was. 

Coming from a comfortably middle-class background, he had never seen a place like this before. The Jefferson was like something straight out of The Great Gatsby. Even the clientele that cruised through the lobby or lounged on the plush leather and crushed velvet armchairs and rounded sofas scattered about were on another level that was leagues above him. Politicians, diplomats, entertainers, heirs and heiresses, billionaires and millionaires alike all graced the historic halls of the massive establishment acting as casually as your everyday citizen going on a Sunday stroll. Faces he had only seen in the movies were having brunch with their significant others or friends. Political powerhouses that passed judgment on the laws of the land sat laughing in the lounge smoking cigars with colleagues--dressed down in casual dark pants and polo's. What alternative reality had Jean just wandered into?

As he pondered his position, the blonde began to notice something far more odd than the famous patrons all gathering in this one spot. As they walked toward the private elevator used only for guests who had booked one of the numerous suites, Jean spotted close to a dozen denizens. There was a platinum blonde actress on her way to check out whose glamour he had seen straight through and, much to his surprise, realized the woman was actually a muse; an elite denizen he had only heard stories of but never encountered in real life. Coming down the stairs was one of the senators from California discussing something in hushed tones with the senator from Rhode Island. Both were werewolves; Jean could tell from their scent and from the way they subtly bared their necks to Marco as they passed by. Most shocking was the K-pop star returning from a swim in the pool who was using a heavy glamour spell to conceal his faery wings.

Stepping inside the elevator, Jean went ridged when a member of the supreme court joined them on the lift. The aura radiating from him was the same the one Erwin exuded which could mean just one thing. 'I thought there was only one reaper in the US,' Jean thought silently, his eyes flickering over to the stoic strong jawed man with thick silver hair combed back and frown lines framing his thin lips. He looked so much different from the face of death he had grown accustomed to. Whereas this man was chilling just to glance at and had an intimidating presence, Erwin was at least easy on the eyes and knew the importance of a smile even if it hid a cruel reality behind it. When the court justice departed on the seventh floor, Marco snorted a laugh once the door had closed.

"That's Judge Hastings from Virginia. He's one of the most senior members of the Supreme Court and one of five reapers currently stationed in the US."

"There's five of them?" Jean gawked; half in awe and half in horror.

"Yeah, five. What?" Marco smirked humorously. "You seriously thought Erwin was the only one? This country's too big for just one to handle. There's five--one for every time zone--and, globally, I think there's about a hundred and six reapers."

"There's that many?"

"Yeah but they're actually pretty rare since they live forever and, when one eventually kicks the bucket, another one has to be found. It's not like they procreate like humans do."

"Then how does someone become a reaper?"

The brunette shrugged as they arrived at their floor. "Don't know. It's not fun though. Ask Erwin if you're really curious."

Briefly stopping by their suite--the Virginia Suite Queen which, thankfully, had two separate queen beds--the two agents told their familiars to play nice while they were gone then were escorted by three large bodyguards to the Jefferson Suite which was the hotels equivalent of a penthouse. Entering the ornate living space that opened to the private dining room and secluded terrace that overlooked the city, Jean was thrown off kilter when he saw four additional witches present; all of which were dark casters. 'So we aren't the only ones on this case,' the blonde observed as he sized them up. Each possessed frightening power, it being something he could easily sense the moment they walked into the room. He couldn't tell what coven they were from or what variant of dark casting they used but they were good enough to be assigned to a high-profile case.

As they stopped near dead center of the gathering space, the door to the en suite bedroom opened and walked a man so extreme in his beauty that it was ungodly. Towering above the others--likely six foot four or a bit taller--the man was sight to behold with unblemished alabaster skin whiter than fresh snow, eyes the deepest shade of royal blue, full bowed lips, and fiery auburn hair neatly combed into a sleek undercut pompadour. Similar to his appearance, he was dressed only in the finest black designer slacks with the sleeves of his pastel blue silk blend button-down rolled up and the tie loosened. He looked much younger than Jean would have expected. Their case file didn't come with a picture but said the man was thirty-seven. However, the man before them looked like he was in his late twenties.

Lip curling in an almost feline manner, the redhead pushed both hands into his pockets as he approached the newcomers. "You must be agents Bott and Kirstein. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise. I'm Marco from the Chapel Hill branch," the brunette said, shaking the hand that had been extended to him, "and this is my partner."

Shaking the senators' hand, Jean fought to hold back the chill that washed over him and sent tingles up his spine. "Jean Kirstein. It's a pleasure."

"So you're the new white-caster I've been hearing about. It's nice to finally have a face to put with the rumors."

"Excuse me?" the blonde inquired, his brows slightly knitting together at the man's comment though not missing that devious spark in his sapphire eyes.

"It's nothing to be concerned over. A friend of mine in the FBSP told me about a recently claimed white witch with dual casting abilities and a knack for learning dark casting." Shamelessly eyeing Jean up and down, the senator offered him a cheeky boyish smirk. "You're different than what I was expecting. Oh, and both of you can call me Liam. I hate it when people are formal with me, especially in circumstances such as these," he said, his expression deflating just a tad. "Anyway, now that everyone's here, shall we go over the situation?"

All agreeing, the six agents sat down with the spry senator to discuss the game plan. Liam was oddly calm considering their was a hitman tailing him that could change their appearance faster than a pin could drop. Then again, he was a politician and politicians were one of the biggest targets of assassination regardless of what country they were in. Why, just half a month ago a diplomat from India was killed in his home in Mumbai and an ambassador from Russia was assassinated while on vacation in Greece with his family earlier in October. However, what Jean did not know was that they too were Nephilim. And as both he and Marco feared, Visage was behind both hits.

In fact, Liam wasn't the only Nephilim with a private security detail that night. Around the globe, three other political figures were being monitored and guarded after receiving the fabled red letter from the organization that told their target that they had "been selected to die for the cause" as the note put it. Reading over the finely written letter that had been sealed in a crimson envelop before being placed in Liam's mailbox earlier that week, Jean tried to think what they could possibly gain from killing the men and women they were targeting. All of them were from different countries and, while they had some influence, it wasn't like they were the head's of state or heirs to a throne. What was their angle? And what was this "cause" that they had mentioned briefly in the note?

No one knew or they weren't open to discussing it if they did know about Visage's "cause." As the conversation continued, they assigned posts to every agent present. Michele and Ray from Louisiana would be their eyes in the rafters since they were more easily picked out in a crowd and operated best when casting from a distance with their marionette spells. Hendrix and Darcy from California would work security at the door since they had a more approachable yet still imposing appearance and needed to be closer to the people so that Darcy could use her touch-know sensory abilities. Shirley and Alice from the New York branch would mingle with the crowd since they often worked as security for high-profile Manhattan socialites and knew how to separate a humans aura from a denizens in a large group. 

Lastly, Marco would be Liam's bodyguard since the three he had already brought were too obvious while Jean would play the role of assistant/secretary since he needed to stay close to the senator in case he was wounded. The blonde was the only member of the team with adequate healing capabilities so both he and Liam were to be monitored and guarded at all times. If Aude did make an appearance the following evening at the gala, he was to be handled by Jean and Marco since the brunette was the single most powerful witch present and possessed the rare ability to wield Hellfire, the black flames that would materialize in the palms of his hands and wrap around his arms like angry vines reaching out to consume their enemy. This was also likely why the other agents in the room kept their distance from Marco. While Levi may be the grand caster of the New Chapel Coven, the brunette was second in command and had a reputation for most completed burns in the FBSP.

When the meeting wrapped and they had all finished their drinks--a treat, courtesy of the senator and on his own dollar--the six agents wished their client a pleasant evening and splintered off to their rooms. All, that is, except for Jean who had been asked to stay for a few minutes longer. Watching as Marco eyed the senator who had walked out onto the terrace to smoke a cigarette, the brunette gently held his partners wrist and whispered "be careful" into his ear--his lips brushing the blonde's skin just enough to make him shiver. Then, with a final pointed look at the redhead's back, he squeezed Jean's hand before letting go and leaving the room. Now, it was just the senator and the white witch.

"He's awfully protective of you," Liam said, his smooth voice peppered with a dash of humor as he looked over his shoulder at Jean with that feline smile as smoke escaped past his pillowy lips. "Care to join me?"

Stepping out onto the veranda, Jean was greeted by the cool breeze of the oncoming storm that was brewing in the north and was slowly making its way down to the southern states, Virginia included. In a week, the city before them would be covered in a foot deep blanket of snow with more on the way. But for now, Richmond was aglow with the twinkling of city lights reflected back in the puddles of rainwater on the street. Taking in the rich smell of damp earth and crisp leaves falling in the winter wind, Jean felt more at ease than he had all day as he leaned against the stone railing with both eyes closed and a soft smile on his face.

"Beautiful isn't it?" Liam breathed, his voice soft and considerate as he gazed out over the city. "It feels different from up here. Being down there in the thick of it every day... Your perspective really changes when you take a step back to look at the bigger picture. You can think more clearly when you remove yourself from the everyday grind."

"Do you think that's why Visage is targeting you?" Jean dared to ask. Turning his head, he was caught in a sea of sapphire as Liam held his gaze with a sad smile across his lips. "All of their targets were taken out right before they could change parties and, as rumor would have it, you're considering swinging your vote and stance to the libertarian party."

"You really aren't what I was expecting; not in the slightest. That could be their motive. Although I have to wonder why they're targeting Nephilim politicians and no one else."

"Probably because they leave the desolation of humans up to human assassins and focus on knocking off denizens." Suddenly remembering his manners or lack thereof, Jean bit his lip while muttering 'damn it' under his breath. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like--"

Interrupting his apology with a hearty laugh, Liam buckled over; his cigarette dangling between two fingers while his mouth opened to release the bubbling sound with a smile as lovely as he was.

"I was thinking the same thing to be honest," he chuckled while wiping away a tear that had formed near the corner of his right eye. "And don't apologize. I like honest people; those especially who don't think before they talk. You're more likely to get a straight answer out of those kind of people than you are to get from those who sit around and think about something all day."

Deciding then that it was alright to drop the nerves and formalities, Jean smirked. "That's true. You have to wonder what they do with all that time they spend thinking on one question."

"More like what they could accomplish if they didn't spend the whole while pondering the creation of the universe."

"Well our government would be in a much better place than it is now, that's for sure," the blonde joked.

"Ouch," Liam feigned injury to his ego as he playfully placed a hand over his heart. "Hey, there's some of us who are really trying. It's just difficult when half of the house wants you dead and the other is wondering why they elected you to the position you didn't want in the first place."

"You didn't want to be the majority whip?"

"Fuck no," the senator snorted with a lopsided grin. "Do I look like I'm ready to have gray hair yet? They elected me to be majority whip because they thought I'd have more sway over the minority whip because we were old college buddies."

"So they wanted you to play dirty?" Jean gawked, almost disbelieving of the news despite knowing that this was a regular occurrence on Capitol Hill.

Nodding, Liam took a drag for his cigarette then exhale a plume of light gray smoke. "Guess they didn't expect me to be as forthcoming as I am. Probably thought I was in politics for the money and the sexual favors like some of the other guys in the circuit are. Anyway," he said with a sigh then shifted one long leg behind the other as he turned to look completely at Jean. "I was wondering something."

"The reason for existence?"

"Funny but not quite. How good are you with your healing magic?"

"I'm pretty decent. Maybe not as good as the leader of my coven but it was the first thing I learned and I use it all the time since Marco is too reckless for his own good."

"Bull in a china shop, huh. Well if you've studied under Ymir then you got to be more than just decent."

"How'd you know Ymir is leader?" Jean asked, eyes wide with bewilderment.

"I went to school with her wife. Plus, us denizens tend to know one another better than humans know their own. You'll learn that quickly. Anyway, I wanted to see how good you are with quick mends in the off-chance that something happens tomorrow night." 

Sitting down on the chair behind him, Liam motioned for him to join. When he had, the senator reclined casually into his seat with one leg crossed over the other. Jean couldn't help the feeling building in the pit of his stomach. The man's presence was so powerful, it was nauseating. His entire body felt like it were about to catch fire and his bones felt weak the more he stared at him. It was similar to the feeling he got when Marco looked at him for too long, but whereas that was a pleasant sensation this was anxiety inducing; like nails being dragged down the exposed nerves of his spine. He was too perfect--too handsome that it was frightening. Watching, at first with genuine curiosity then in horror, as Liam removed a switchblade from his pant pocket faster than he could blink, Jean cringed with wide frightened eyes as the man cut the flawless skin of his palm deep enough to slice through fat and muscle and all without batting a lash.

Looking up at Jean through his long lush lashes as blood pooled in his hand, Liam smirked with the wounded palm extended to the young man. "Heal it for me."

"W-What?"

"Heal me."

It wasn't a question; it was a command and Jean wasn't allowed to refuse. Taking a deep grounding breath as his lightly trembling hands took hold of Liam's pale palm that had been stained bright red, the blonde told himself to relax. Panicking right now wouldn't do him any good and, if he couldn't heal the senator right now in a calm setting then he sure as hell wouldn't be able to in the heat of a fight when the mans life was on the line. He needed to relax and find his center like Ymir had taught him. The trick to doing a thorough job mending an injury was to think about the one thing that soothed him the most; a rejuvenating hobby or state of being that left him feeling restored. For his coven leader it was a long soak in a hot bath. For Zeke, it was falling asleep next to his wife after a long day at work. For Jean...

Latching onto the sensation, the young man placed one hand firmly atop the wound while the other braced it from the back. Ignoring the hot blood trickling over his palm and down his wrist, Jean focused on the feeling bubbling up in his chest; the fluttering sensation that spread over him and the joyful calm that sparked within his heart as his eyes closed. Moments later, a glittering pale yellow light appeared around their joined hands as the mending began. The clean cut edges of lacerated hand muscles stretched out like fingers reaching for each other as they joined and melded together while small blood vessels wrapped around them then reddened as the blood flow was restored. There came a slight hiss from between Liam's gritted teeth as the nerves were repaired sending small jolts of hot sharp pain up his arm. Slowly, one by one, the tips of his limp fingers twitched as the tissue joining them to the rest of his hand was patched back together.

Smiling as he watched his fingers grip gently at Jeans' hand, Liam breathed out a laugh. "Amazing," he whispered as even the blood that had collected between their hands was sucked back up into his veins. "You're absolutely amazing Jean. Not even Ymir could manage that trick."

Smiling faintly, Jean waited for the light to fade before he let go. "It's really not all that hard."

"Did you miss the last part of what I said? Even your coven leader can't reabsorb the lost blood when she does her mendings. I guess my gut paid off again when I asked for you to be on the team."

"About that," the blonde hesitated as he stared at his finished work--perfect skin without any hint at it being damaged moments before. "Why did you pick me? There were other more qualified white witches that you could have picked and you seem to be close friends with Ymir and Krista so I don't get it."

"Because you intrigue me," Liam said with a low cast tone as he leaned closer while tilting his head to the side so that he could see Jean's face. "I've never met a witch quite like you. They're either too nice and formal or they're cold and untrusting. But you....you're a different breed of peculiar."

"I-I'm what?"

Flashing him that sly catlike grin again, the redhead leaned in further; their lips less than an inch apart. "Maybe I'll tell you another time. But for now," Liam said, closing the distance and kissing him softly on the corner of his mouth, "you should go. I wouldn't want to incur the wrath of your keeper."

Heart pounding as his confused muddled brain spiraled, Jean searched for his words. "Marco isn't my keeper. Anyways, it's late and I....I should leave," he breathed as if the air were being knocked out of him when he looked up and was ensnared again by the cool blue of Liam's haunting eyes.

"Goodnight then."

"Goodnight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the inspiration for this chapter comes entirely from a set of four songs, but primarily from David Bowie's "Cat People (Putting Out Fire)" hence the chapter title. As you have also noticed, this installment is a two-parter, kinda like the song which starts off calm and pensive then snaps to be loud and rock 'n' roll. So to get you ready for what's coming next, I'm including the lyrics here for you all to enjoy while pondering how Marco will take someone else hitting on his partner. Now here, from me to you, is "Cat People (Putting Out Fire)" by the immaculate space oddity, David Bowie.
> 
>  
> 
> *CAT PEOPLE (PUTTING OUT FIRE)*  
> by David Bowie
> 
> See these eyes so green  
> I can stare for a thousand years  
> Colder than the moon  
> It's been so long
> 
> Feel my blood enraged  
> It's just the fear of losing you  
> Don't you know my name  
> Well, you've been so long
> 
> And I've been putting out the fire with gasoline  
> See these eyes so red  
> Red like jungle burning bright  
> Those who feel me near
> 
> Pull the blinds and change their minds  
> It's been so long  
> Still this pulsing night  
> A plague I call a heartbeat
> 
> Just be still with me  
> You wouldn't believe what I've been through  
> You've been so long  
> Well it's been so long
> 
> I've been putting out the fire with gasoline  
> Putting out the fire  
> With gasoline
> 
> See these tears so blue  
> An ageless heart that can never mend  
> These tears can never dry  
> A judgment made can never bend
> 
> See these eyes so green  
> I can stare for a thousand years  
> Just be still with me  
> You wouldn't believe what I've been through  
> Well you've been so long
> 
> It's been so long  
> And I've been putting out fire with gasoline  
> Putting out a fire with gasoline
> 
> Putting out fire  
> We've been putting out fire  
> Well it's been so long, so long, so long  
> Yes it's been so long so long so long  
> I've been putting out fire (it's been so long, so long, so long)  
> I've been putting out fire (it's been so long, so long, so long)  
> Yeah, yeah putting out fire (been so long, so long, so long)  
> Been putting out fire (been so long, so long, so long)  
> Yeah putting out fire (been so long, so long, so long)  
> Putting out fire (been so long, so long, so long)  
> It's been so long (Been so long, so long, so long)  
> It's been so long (been so long, so long, so long)  
> I've been putting out fire (been so long, so long, so long)


	9. Putting Out Fire (Pt.II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the world comes crashing down, who will you save.... (the continuation of Putting Out Fire Pt.I)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> WARNING: I hope your ready for this...

He had screwed up. Had fucked up royally and Marco knew it immediately after the words had left his mouth. Now, after screwing everything up, he really couldn't sleep. Was left there laying in his bed pondering when he had become so stupid. Since when had he become so horribly naive that he thought yelling and lashing out at someone would accomplish anything. Staring up at the ceiling wide awake as the clock on the nightstand struck 5:30 a.m., it was official that he will have gone a full forty-eight hours without sleep. Rolling his head to the side, Marco watched the back of Jean's shoulders as they moved with every breath he took. He felt horrible; like he had been dragged along the jagged bottom of the ocean floor and left there to drown.

It was obvious that something had happened between Jean and Liam when he had come back to the room. Marco could tell just from looking at the light dusting of pink on his cheeks that the guy had put the moves on his partner but it wasn't any of his business. They weren't an item and Marco had told Jean weeks ago that it wouldn't work between them. Had laid it out nice and clear that they were to remain work partners and nothing more. Even so, he couldn't stop the anger and jealousy from boiling in his veins. What an idiot he was. How foolish of him to think breaking away from what his heart wanted would be that easy. 

He didn't know how it escalated or who had started it but Marco clearly recalled the anguish on Jean's face when he accused him of being "loose enough to move on that quickly." Why the hell would he say something like that?! And why did he follow it up with telling Jean he should have just stayed with Liam that night?! He should have just let it be. Should have put the shovel down and stopped digging this grave he'd have to lay in but his jealous heart couldn't let it go; couldn't let the blonde go because he wanted to keep him all to himself. But the final nail in the coffin came when Jean pointed out that he had no right to be acting the way he was.

"If you don't care then why are you yelling at me?! Why do you even fucking care Marco?! I keep catching you staring at me like you're half starved and then you pull shit like this?!" Jean had yelled as he pushed past him on his way to the bedroom. "Just fucking be honest and say you like me instead of acting like a brat!"

He had been made and he knew it. But still, Marco couldn't let him win. "In what world would I ever want you. It's my job to watch you, remember? What happened before was just me letting off steam. That's it so don't get ahead of yourself."

Those bitter words that dripped of venom still stung Marco's lips and burned his tongue. It was as if he could hear Jean's heart breaking; that the shatter was great enough that the sound had escaped from within him and was reverberating off the walls, filling the silent stagnant air between them. He could see the tears in his eyes that refused to fall. He could see the quiver of his soft lips, the flush of his cheeks, and trembling in his hands. But where Marco thought he'd see anger and hatred, he only saw sorrow and pity in those tortured pools of golden amber. 'I love you,' Marco had realized the moment he looked into those eyes. 'Shit, no, why is this happening?' Paralyzed, he watched his partner grab his jacket, walk toward the front door, and leave quietly without slamming the door. 'Oh God,' his mind raced as his now shaking hands came up to comb through his hair. "What have I done?"

Marco waited for him to come back while trying to think of what he could say to fix the mess he had made. A simple sorry couldn't patch this up; not after he had so thoroughly wrecked the young man. He wasn't afraid of what he would say because anything was better than leaving things as is. What he was truly afraid of was Jean. When he left, he wasn't angry like one would expect. He didn't slam the door or take any final jabs at Marco's already wounded pride. Instead he quietly admitted defeat and left. The kid had given up which for the brunette--having just realized the extent of his feelings for Jean--was a horrifying idea. Marco had been told by previous lovers that he'd end up alone if he didn't learn to open up and stop being so prideful. They were right as it turned out because the person he was sure now he had been waiting all these years to meet didn't want anything to do with him.

By the time Jean had come back to the room around 2:00 a.m., he smelled of whiskey and looked like he'd been crying for hours. It was heart breaking watching him stumble out of his clothes in silence with the occasional sniffle, switch into his sleeping pants, and crawl into bed as if he had just returned home from war a broken man. Every quiet fractured sob pierced through Marco with unfathomable vengeance. The way the blonde looked smaller now that he was curled up on his side facing away from him with shoulders gently shaking was the cruelest most hideous brand of torture Marco had experienced in all his 185 years of life. His mind screamed, commanding him to sneak into Jean's bed and hold him while pouring it all out; to beg for his forgiveness and tell him how much he loved him. His heart raced wildly in his chest that--had he not been cursed--he was certain he would've died from cardiac arrest in that moment. 

But despite how much he wanted to comfort Jean, to hold him and kiss him until the tears ceased and the shaking quelled, his body wouldn't cooperate. Frozen in place like a statue carved from stone, he could only watch from afar as the man he loved fell apart. If there were ever a moment at which Marco wished he could go back in time and change everything, it was then. This was wrong, so wrong. It was a perversion of what should have been. Those muffled cries and strangled shaking breaths shouldn't be the sounds Jean was making. The look of misery and heartbreak that was undoubtedly painting Jean's face shouldn't be there. Marco should have come clean; should have told him everything then taken the young man in his arms and kissed him breathless. They should have been in bed together professing their love to one another over and over as their bodies melted together in hysteric bliss. The look on his face should have been one of complete rapture. That's what should have been....should have....

But as the sun came up, Jean was the first to rise with it. Silent again, he padded into the bathroom, closing the door softly so that he wouldn't wake Marco up. Even in his agony he was considerate. He had just had his heart ripped out by his partner yet still put him first. Marco didn't deserve him, didn't deserve his kindness or thoughtfulness yet his heart had resolved itself. He was going to find a way to fix this. He wasn't going to let Jean go because he was tired of this game and he was ready to do anything to win him back. Marco knew he couldn't rush this though; had to let this last wound heal before he could come clean or else it really would destroy the guy. It was infuriating how grandly he had screwed up but now was not the time to wallow. He had all of last night to learn his lesson. No. Now was the time to douse this fire.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

"Is everything alright?" Liam asked lowly with a concerned look about his face as he leaned in close enough that only Jean could hear the question as the team went over the plan on more time before the gala that evening. "You look pale. Are you not feeling well?"

Faking a smile as best as he could, Jean shook his head. "I'm alright. I had a nightmare and couldn't fall back asleep."

"You want to lay down in my room for an hour or two?"

Eyes flickering to Marco sitting across from him who quickly looked away, Jean felt a sharp pang of sadness stab at his gut. "No I'll be alright. Thanks though."

He didn't know why Liam was being so attentive to him or why he cared so much about someone who was virtually a perfect stranger but it was a nice change considering the person his naive heart pined for couldn't care less about him. The meeting was about halfway through when the senator called for a two hour break so that they could get some air and a spot of lunch before hitting the old grindstone. Jean had planned on spending his hour alone at the coffee shop across the street but Liam insisted that they stick together in case there was a preemptive attack or something happened that compromised the blonde's health. He didn't think anything of it since everyone else was pairing off--Marco heading down to the hotel restaurant with Michele and Ray--so he went along with the flow.

Dressed down in a pair of jeans with a black and white flannel tied around his waist just in case, a dark gray scoop neck t-shirt layered underneath a black hoodie with shearling interior, and some old maroon Converse low-tops with his aviators sunglasses on, Liam looked years younger and blended seamlessly with crowd around them; well, despite being almost half a foot taller than everyone else. Pulling Jean back when he tried heading off toward the coffee shop, the redhead smiled saying he had a better idea. Without even thinking about what his actions could do if they'd been caught by the paparazzi, Liam took the blonde by the hand with the most charming expression in his eyes. Running for the 6 bus as it pulled up to the stop, he told Jean to sit down somewhere while he paid for their fair. Taking the only available seat, he watched to snow as it slowly came down outside then slip into a blurred flurry as the bus began to move.

He still felt numb from crying all last night; still felt hollow like someone had mistaken him for a pumpkin and gutted him. Jean knew he must have had it bad for Marco if he was this depressed about being turned down. 'Guess I really did love him if it's hurting this bad,' he thought quietly, eyes flickering up as a pair of familiar shoes came to rest just a couple inches from the toes of his own navy Converse. Caught off guard by the warm sympathetic look in Liam's pools of ocean blue, Jean felt his heart stir. It wasn't the same as when Marco looked at him. It wasn't the same electrifying sensation that made his heart flutter when the curve of his lips curled into a smile that dimpled his freckled cheeks. This was something different. A thankful pattering of his pained heart that there was someone who saw him; that didn't shrug him off as if he were invisible.

"Why is it that every time I see you, you have this defeated look in your eyes?" Liam asked.

Furrowing his brow at the question, Jean cocked his head to the side. "What?"

"Nothing. I'll tell you later."

"Tell me what?"

Sapphire eyes darting to the LCD sign above the driver, he smirked. "This is our stop. Come on."

Again, taking Jean by the hand, Liam lead the way with a sweet squeeze to his palm. It was strange how the man could be so kind and affection to someone he had only just met. It was the complete opposite of what Jean knew; what he had grown accustomed to. All three of his ex's wound up being pieces of shit that used him for his body; the last one being the worst and most abusive. He had never felt that significant or worthwhile. Being invisible wasn't that hard once he had gotten used to it but Marco had gone and fucked everything up. He acknowledged him, told him he wasn't crazy and needed to be institutionalized. Didn't flinch when Jean told him about his dreams, the things he saw, or that he could talk to ghosts. The brunette took it all with a grain of salt as if it were the most normal thing in the world and went as far as to share his own experiences. They had become so close, closer than work friends but not quite a couple. Jean thought he cared. That maybe there was a chance for them. But last night...

Looking up at the sign on the front of the establishment as they entered, Jean didn't feel like hanging out in a bar. However, when they got inside Sine Irish Pub and Restaurant, he was pleasantly surprised by how warm and cozy it felt. Playing over the sound system was "The Nightingale" by The Dubliners while the mild chattering of patrons and waiters conversing with the cooks filled the air. The smell of hearty stews, potatoes, and garden herbs wafted from the kitchen every time a server left the back-of-house. Separated from the bar was the restaurant portion with quiet booths to hide away in and squared off tables down the center in rows of two's.

Following Liam as the hostess showed them to their seat--a booth in the back corner of the restaurant by a window that overlooked the patio dining area--Jean tried to put this depression behind him. Marco had told him a month ago that they couldn't be anything more than coworkers so, even if the brunette's actions contradicted that, he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. He needed to suck it up and get over him if they were to continue working together. Ordering a pint of Guinness, the blonde turned to catch Liam smiling back him as if he had just said something funny.

"What?" the young man asked, feeling more self-conscious as the redhead's grin grew.

"Nothing. It's just we ordered the same thing at the same time."

"Did we?"

Snorting a laugh through closed lips, he slumped back into his seat. "You're still oblivious to the world around you I see." When Jean's expression swiftly turned to confusion, Liam decided to have mercy on him. "You don't remember me, but we've met before."

"What? When?"

"I was a grad student studying political science and economics at UCLA. It was may last year in the program when we met. You were a barista at the coffee shop across the street from my dorm. I think you had just graduated from high school since you didn't have any tattoo's yet. At least, I hope you had graduated otherwise I would have been flirting with a minor which could totally end my career."

"Y-you what?" Jean stuttered when the it finally clicked and he recognized the man looking back at him. "Holy shit," he breathed. "Holy fucking shit."

"There it is," the redhead smiled. Pausing when the waiter brought them their drinks and said she'd be back with their appetizer, he continued after a sip from the frothy top of his beer. "I was wondering if you'd remember me. You did tell me once that I was hard to miss because I was 'stupid tall.'"

"Shit, you really are him."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Not a bad thing. Just, I don't know. It's weird meeting again after all this time and---"

"Under such different circumstances?" Liam said, finishing his sentence. "I thought the same thing when Erwin sent me the files for the two agents he was sending my way. I'd heard of Marco but your name immediately caught my attention. I knew who you were the second I saw your file."

"Fuck." the blonde groaned as he slumped over his drink.

Well if this wasn't the most awkward position to be caught in. Here he was trying to get over Marco when the hottie from his first job decided to show up. Jean knew he looked familiar but he thought it was because the guy just had one of those faces. He didn't know that Liam was actually the same redhead he would internally fawn over every time he came in for his cinnamon dolce latte with an extra shot on Fridays because he had to stay up late and study. But, taking this little--well, big--revelation into account, his actions now made sense. 

During that year Jean worked at the coffee shop, they had grown close since he always worked the same morning and evening shifts. Every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, Liam would come in for his morning coffee and a croissant, taking a blueberry muffin if they were out of the first option. On Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday, he'd come in after class, set up camp with his laptop in the corner by the back window--a spot he seemed to like--and would work on his homework and study for the upcoming lectures. Sometimes Jean would hangout with him on his breaks since they often talked when the blonde was on the hot bar and had no drinks to make. But even so, he didn't think the guy was flirting with him. 'Am I that oblivious?'

"You know, if you think on it any harder smoke will come out of your ears," Liam joked as he took a bite from the shepherds pie he had ordered.

"Sorry. I just never thought I'd see you again. You just dropped off the face of the planet and I thought that was it."

"I graduated and got a job on Capitol Hill right out of school. It sucked since I wanted to stay in California but I couldn't pass it up."

"And now you're a senator for Virginia and the majority whip."

"And so I am."

Smiling back at him, Jean sighed, rolled his eyes and started eating his food. Over lunch they caught up, talking about anything that popped into their head. Most of the time it was Liam listening to Jean as he regaled the redhead with stories of his own college experiences--both laughing at the more embarrassing moments like Jean being woken by his professor after his snoring had filled the entire amphitheater of his Physics I class. It was strange how easily they slipped back into this familiar routine of casual conversation laced with snarky little jokes and jabs at one another. Liam was welcoming, warm, and kind. He didn't once make Jean feel pressured to talk about something he didn't want to nor did he talk down to him or stab at his intelligence like his ex's did. Rather he listened, laughed, and asked to hear more. It was so easy that it almost made Jean's heart flutter. But every time he started forgetting why he had felt so awful that morning, the ghost of Marco's laugh or voice would rattle through his head making his heart plummet.

Pausing mid-sip, Liam sat down his drink while closing his eyes with a happy smile. "My mother used to sing me this song when I was little. I was so terrified of the dark that she'd curl up next to me in bed and would rock me while singing this."

"What song is it?" Jean asked when he didn't recognize the lyrics.

"The Skye Boat Song. I didn't know that we were denizens at the time so I thought the faery folk and spirits I saw were all make-believe; that they existed in another world far from here. My mother said that they lived in a kingdom that only appeared to us right as the sun set. She called it the Land of Skye. You can understand my shock when I figured out what I was and that everything I thought was fantasy was actually real."

"My mother told me something similar but said that if I tried talking to them, the faeries and spirits would run away because they'd be scared."

"Ah, the lies we tell ourselves," Liam said casually though the underlying tone in his voice hinted at something else.

"Liam," Jean said softly; their eyes meeting when the man looked up through his thick lashes. "Thank you. I haven't been able to relax in a long time so this was nice."

"You know, when you look at me like that, I feel compelled to push you into talking about why you've been so down-trodden." When Jean looked away with cheeks slightly flushed, Liam knew exactly what was up. He had a feeling it had something to do with the guy's partner but now he was sure. "You know Bott's an idiot when it comes to admitting when he's wrong." Smirking at the adorable expression the blonde was making, he came clean so that there wouldn't be any confusion. "I lied when I said I didn't know Marco. He doesn't remember me because I was a high schooler when we met but he was the temporary warden for my family before we moved back to Virginia. This isn't the first time I've had a hit put out on my name. He and his sister Ymir were the people assigned to my family last time. And, as luck would have it, Erwin picked him again."

"You're shitting me."

"Afraid not. My father was senator for Virginia before me. When he retired I was elected to take his place. I was considering changing over to congress but then he died so I got stuck with this out of family obligation. But back to what I said before, Marco's an idiot and doesn't understand the gravity of his actions before it's too late. So, if he asks to talk to you, hear him out."

"Why are you telling me this?" Jean asked, now thoroughly confused since he was almost certain that was secretly a date Liam hadn't clued in on him just yet.

Looking into the young man's beautiful amber eyes, his smile softened into something a bit sadder. "Because I'm a glutton for punishment that doesn't know when to quit."

"What does that--"

Before he could finish, Liam brazenly leaned over the table and brought their lips together; the fingers of his hand cradling the back of Jean's head tangling in the mess of silken blonde hair. With the angle they were in, it was easy for the redhead to deepen the kiss--nibbling on the bottom of Jean's lip while simultaneously licking over the delicious wet heat of the young mans tongue. He had wanted to kiss Jean for so long; thought about it almost every day since they had met during his grad school years. The guy was funny, sweet, thoughtful, and always had a smart comeback. The only problem was that he was always taken whenever he had worked up the courage to ask him out. And now, now that they were older and wiser, his heart again belonged to someone else. And as much as Liam hated admitting defeat, the fact of the matter was that Jean and Marco were perfect for each other; they would be once the brunette apologized for traumatizing the kid and stopped acting like a fool.

Lips parting with a small pop, Liam swallowed hard when he saw the enchanted look in Jean's eyes. "If only it was me you loved."

Faced with the open honesty of the man's melancholy blue eyes, Jean gave him a kiss by the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry Liam. You're a good man."

"I know. Just not your man."

"Yeah. Mine just doesn't want me."

"Oh he wants you. It's why you two fought last night."

"Am I that transparent?" the blonde chuckled, the sadness once again creeping up on him.

"No. I'm a nephilim. You can't trick us on anything." Smirking when Jean looked up, Liam winked. "We're basically living lie-detectors. Makes us perfect politician material."

Laughing wholeheartedly, Jean gazed back at him with newfound fondness. "Capitol Hills only honest politician."

"Maybe. Anyway, we should start heading back. We have to finish going over the game plan and then I need to spruce myself up. Can't show up to my own execution wearing jeans and a t-shirt."

"Not funny dude."

"Hey, if I can laugh at my situation then you should be able to." Placing a hundred in the waiters billet with a note that told him to keep the extra sixty dollars as a tip, Liam rose and, meeting Jean halfway, held out his hand. "Can I hold your hand until we get back to the hotel?"

Jean had never been asked by someone if they could do that. Biting his lip as he smiled shyly, he took the redhead's hand. "Sure."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The mood in the room shifted as the clock struck 7:00 p.m. Things were already tense as it was; discussing what to do in case the senator was ambushed and injured wasn't an easy topic for anyone. But there was a noticeable somberness that took hold of them when the sound of the bell tolled at the start of the new hour. Staring at the mounted clock on the wall, Liam looked like a man on death row who had reconciled his fate with himself. Sighing, his jeweled eyes passed over everyone else before settling on Jean.

"Guess it's time to get ready."

Jean hated the way he said that. Didn't like the way it hung in silence for a moment as the bell tolled again and again. He shouldn't be acting like the fight had already been lost. Sure, with three other nephilim politicians already dead, there wasn't a lot of stock for him to place his hope in. But the man shouldn't underestimate the team that had been assigned to protect to him. All of the witches present--minus Jean--were the best and brightest of their coven and elite huntsmen at their respective branches of the FBSP. And as much as he may not have liked Marco in that moment, the brunette was one of the top dark-casting witches in the US. He was a master of Hellfire, particle obliteration, and was able to tears gaps in the fabric of space in order to transport himself. The man was a powerhouse that could dominate any enemy; of that Jean was certain of.

Walking back to their suite once the group had been dismissed, Jean and Marco busied themselves with getting dressed and equipped for the gala. On the way back, the brunette quietly told his partner that he wanted to talk with him later that night after the mission was completed. Jean hated that his voice alone could make his heart dance and his stomach knot. It's like he didn't know when to quit. 'Maybe Liam was right,' he thought to himself as he left the shower. Walking into the separate dressing area he unzipped the garment bag carrying inside it the only piece of designer clothing he owned. 

Still as picture perfect as the day his grandfather had had it fitted to the young man's measurements, the slim black Hugo Boss suit slipped onto him like a glove. It hugged in all the right places while framing his lean elegant body. He felt strange looking at himself in the mirror since the image reflected back was not one he was used to. The suit made him look taller, prouder...like he was the heir to a New York fortune and went to high-profile parties every week. The only part of his true self that showed was the tattoo behind his ear that the beldame had sliced in two.

Removing the majority of his piercings since he was playing the role of Liam's assistant, he left in his black onyx studs with gold flecks swirling about in their depths. After assessing himself one more time, Jean turned to Sibylla who was curled up on the plush couch behind him; a small snore whistling through her nostrils while her whiskers twitched. Crouching down, he gave her a petal soft peck on the nose; chuckling when she yawned with a slow stretch of her long fuzzy red legs. Eyes opening to meet her masters, she smiled then brushed her nose against his.

"Is it time to go Kit?" she asked as he scratched behind her ear.

"Yeah, it's time. It's a shame you can't stay in this form. You'd steal the show."

"You keep that up and I'll have to ask Ymir to turn you into a fox," Sibylla joked, smiling wider when she saw how he awkwardly arched a single brow. "How small do you want me tonight?"

"Small enough that you're hard to spot. I don't want anything to happen to you Sib."

"How about a butterfly?"

"Too showy."

"A spider then."

"I hate spiders Sib. You know that."

"Ugggh, you're so picky." Flopping onto her side with a small grunt, she frowned while staring at the wall when a thought occurred to her. "What if I tried shifting into a human?"

"You can't. It's too much energy."

"You're a dual casting witch Kit which means I can pull from two sources too." Watching his expression carefully, she worked the puppy eyes she knew she had. "Please? I'll probably come out a redhead so you guys can just pass me off as Liam's baby sister or something."

Sighing as he admitted defeat, Jean playfully pinched her nose though he didn't look too happy. "Fine. But if you get tired you need to shift into something small like mouse. Got it?"

"Roger that Kit."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marco couldn't believe his eyes; was almost certain he was hallucinating as Sibylla morphed from a red fox into a human child with long curly auburn hair, bright amber eyes, and freckles across her face. 'Holy fucking shit,' he gawked as the girl--dressed in a dark blue tulle dress with shimmering cap sleeves and polished black Mary-Jane shoes--jumped for joy saying "I did it! I did it!" He'd never heard of a familiar having enough power to do such a thing. Technically, it was physically possible if the creature was a morphing type and was paired with a strong witch. But it had never actually happened.

"Holy crap," came another voice from behind Marco.

Both men looked up to see Liam standing in the front entrance, gawking at the new form Sibylla had taken on. Apparently he had seen the whole thing too and was stunned beyond words. Watching as the rambunctious child ran around on her new legs, the three men lingered in silence for a long moment looking back and forth between one another. Jean could see the jealousy wafting off of Marco in waves as his eyes discreetly narrowed in on the senator. Had the blonde not seen the expression, he wouldn't have believed a word Liam had said over lunch. But it was clear that the brunette had an ax to grind with the young senator and did not like one bit how closely he was standing next to his partner.

Unable to take the awkward quiet anymore, Jean cleared his throat. "Shall we?"

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

The gala was more like a celebratory party Jean had noticed halfway through the evening since news came down that Liam had been selected by his party to run in the next presidential election. And as great as the news may have been, it only served to make him a bigger target. Now he wasn't just a senator. He was a presidential candidate and, gauging from his popularity nation wide, could potentially become the next head-of-state. 

Sticking as close to the man as was humanly possible without rousing suspicion, Jean kept his eyes peeled while trying his best to play the role he had been given. Sibylla was doing an excellent job of blending in with the other humans. Ditching the little sister bit the moment he had heard it, Liam claimed she was his niece and daughter of his younger sister Ridley who was, in real life, pregnant with her third child and did have a little girl with long red hair. The only issue was that Sibylla stuck to Jean like glue; something the senator excused away easily telling his colleagues that she had developed a small crush on his assistant. Hovering off in the rafters close by was Marco. With Barron working the front with the other familiars disguised as security canine and bomb sniffing dogs, he was flying solo; a vulnerable position he hated being in. But after years of doing it, he was alright with there being a little bit of distance between he and his familiar.

Sipping on the single glass of champagne he had allowed himself to have that evening, Marco watched as Liam subtly brushed his hand over the small of Jean's back, tenderly gripped his shoulder as he whispered something in his ear, and then frowned as they laughed when Sibylla told a crass joke she had learned from the blonde. He had no right being as jealous as he was. He had screwed up so royally it wasn't even laughable. However, it didn't stop him from secretly wishing that a bus would come out of nowhere and hit Liam. 'Jackass just putting his hands wherever he wants,' Marco scowled. 'Shouldn't he be more mindful of where he's grabbing Jean with all those stories floating around about perverted politicians sexually harassing their assistants.' That was, unless Jean had already gotten over him and was interested in Liam. What if the redhead actually was more his type and all it took was Marco yelling at him to show Jean that he had been wrong this whole time.

"Fuck," Marco breathed low enough that no one else could hear as the horror dawned on him.

Just because he had realized he was in love with Jean didn't mean that everything would work itself out. As things were now, he stood to lose both his heart and ability to fall for anyone the moment he told the blonde what he had been thinking about all day. He already knew that this would be it for him because the intensity of what he was feeling was different from anything Marco had experienced before. Nothing--not even the love he had for Renee--came close to this. Somehow, he had gotten caught up in the trap of Jean's smile and swept out to sea. Choking on the nerves building in the back of his throat when the blonde spotted him from across the room and smiled softly, Marco felt like his heart was about to jump off a cliff at the end of which was no bottom. It'd just kept tumbling aimlessly through space and time waiting to be delivered from this free fall. And he had half a mind to go over there and kiss Jean in front of everyone when bone-chilling shiver raced up his spine.

Pupils blowing wide as his body went ridged, a silent gasp escaped his lips as the sensation spread over him like an ominous wave. Eyes meeting Jeans, the young man had the same alert expression on his handsome face that looked like all color had been drained from it. 'He's here,' Marco thought while glancing discreetly from side to side to see if he could scope out any possible suspects. Much to his displeasure, no one looked out of place; not a single person. 'Not good. This guy doesn't have a tell. Fuck!'

Setting down his glass, Marco made a beeline for the senator and his partner. Politely interjecting into the conversation, the brunette told the two congressmen they were conversing with that Senator Daughtry had a call from his family that needed answering. Recognizing the code when the brunette said "You need to call home," Liam said nothing at first; his expression showing a quick flicker of fear before he corrected himself. Snuffing out the mounting panic in his gut, he excused himself and Jean then turned to follow Marco to the safe house. Cutting through the service corridor with Jean and Sibylla hot on their heels, the brunette summoned Barron while leading them to the main lobby.

Turning down the hall into one of the smaller checkered halls of the lobby, Marco was relieved to see Hendrix rounding the corner. But before he could call out to him and tell him the gala had been compromised Jean's sensor switched on and, without even thinking about it, he jumped in front of the group as a massive half dome shield of light encased them. Marco was a second from asking what was going on when the man he had identified as their teammate lunged at them only to be blocked by the unexpected formation of Jean's protective magic. Shedding his disguise for what must have been his true form--a seven foot humanoid with glowing red eyes and long gangly but powerful limbs--Marco gazed upon it in disgust. This wasn't just some shape shifter. This was some other breed that had mixed with a bogle hence its scarecrow like appearance. And if that were true, then the plan had most definitely changed.

"Barron," Marco called when the familiar had made it to their location, now in his shadow form. "Get Daughtry out of here."

"But that beast--!"

"Do it!"

Following his orders, the large feline nudged Liam in the other direction as Jean expanded his shield so that the creature couldn't follow. At his side, Sibylla--who had started hissing in her human form--had morphed into a colossal great wolf with ink black fur and piercing blue eyes. Baring her fangs with a feral snarl, Marco would not have liked to be on the receiving end of her rage. Sending out four swallowtail messengers to tell the others that they had found Aude, Jean mentally prepared himself for what was about to happen. This guy didn't look like he was going to go down easily and he couldn't in good conscious let Marco do all the work. He hadn't been sleeping well and looked like hell for the past couple of week so there was no way he could do this singlehandedly.

"You ready for this Jean?" Marco asked, black fire pooling in his palms, wrapping around his arms, and eyes aglow with neon violet.

"Yeah," the blonde breathed with uncertainty as his eyes lit up with a heavenly blue and rays of blinding white light swirled around his hands, wrists, and stretched up to his shoulders.

"Good."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jean had been right when he said that Aude wasn't going to go down without a fight. Battling each other in the abandoned exterior courtyard of the Jefferson, the shape shifter was a more frightening force than either of them could have reckoned. With the task of fighting and containing the assassin fell on their shoulders while the other four agents contained the chaos to make sure the humans didn't know what was going on, Marco popped from one space rift into another trying to get the upper hand on the shifter while Barron cut away at the monsters ankles and knees so that it couldn't shift bigger than something the size of an elephant without buckling in on itself.

As the brunette whipped gashes into the enemy's back with his seven-tongue whip and manipulated the gravity around its neck to bring it crashing down, Jean shot at it using the little defensive magic he had learned. His firepower was nowhere near as devastating as Marco's but it was enough to mess with it's vision and temporarily unhinge its knees or shoulders. Dodging a swipe of its claw as the shifter changed forms into a spider four stories tall with the top half of a human, the blonde fell to the ground when it let out a shrill cry that ruptured his eardrums. 

Seeing spots and tasting blood as it trickled down from his nose to his lips, Jean quickly rolled to the left when the creature tried pinning him to the ground with it's spindly leg. Coughing as his back hit the pavement, the blonde found his feet in an instant when another leg attempted to skewer him. Jumping back as Sibylla attacked the limb, he cringed as Aude screamed in pain when the black wolf had chewed through its leg. Returning to her masters side with blue blood staining her teeth and fur as the shifter fumbled backwards, Jean caught his breath as best as he could.

Watching in a trance-like state of awe as Marco blasted a hole through the creatures stomach, he thought that the battle had been won. His eyes followed the brunette as he gracefully descended through the air like an angel; the black flames reaching out from him like wings flickering in the moonlight. He was mesmerized, unable to look away when their gaze met. Smiling back when he saw the small smirk on his partners face, Jean wanted to run to his side and congratulate him on a job well down. But as his legs began to move, horror washed over him when Aude regained consciousness and slapped Marco hard enough with the giant hand of his new form that it sent the brunette flying into the wall behind him. 

Hitting the stone facade with unforgiving force, Marco fell face first into the snow. Before anymore harm could be done, Barron morphed into the largest form he could conjure and stood guard over his master. Growling like a demon possessed the giant feline bared its fangs with foam collecting in the pockets of its mouth. Staring at Marco for a long moment then the cat Jean looked back to his opponent suddenly realizing that he was the only one left. He was the last line of defense. Heart slamming in his chest with both legs frozen in place, he couldn't get a grip on reality as it spiraled away from him. He wasn't ready for this. Levi and Marco hadn't taught him enough to carry a fight solo. Feeling exceedingly small as the shifter rose, now in the form of a pitch black humanoid over eighty feet high with the most unnerving grin, the human side of Jean wanted to run; wanted to flee for his life and not look back. But the stronger side told him to stay were he was.

Eyes flittering over to Marco who laid unconscious in the snow, he thought that if he had to die then it might as well be in style taking down some monstrous shape shifter. 'At least it'll be a memorable way to go out,' he assured himself as his legs finally began to work. 'Right, well, lets get this over with.' Circling the courtyard until he stood in between Aude and Marco, Jean focused on what Levi had taught him during one of the few private lessons they had had. Glowing ring flickering between blue and violet, he did something no one else had done in over four hundred years. 

Breaking his claim, Jean shifted into what Levi called a "dark form" that mimicked dark-casting. It was hard to do and there was a timer on how long he could keep the channel open before his energy topped out and he blacked out. Running on half of what he normally had, Jean started the count down in his head. Whispering "ten minutes" under his breath, Jean growled aloud as he charged the shifter with an uncontained ball of black and white fire growing in the palm of his hand; tongues of furious plasma licking out like thorned vines.

"Bring it bitch!" he roared as the orb launched from his hand and obliterated the giant hand reaching out for him. "I fucking dare you!"

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marco had never been so cold his life as he hovered in total darkness surrounded by voices from the past. Wincing when he heard cannon fire followed by the pained screams of his men, he begged for the torture to stop but it persisted. It were as if his mind was taking him on a tour through the worst nightmares he had lived through, playing only the audio so that the rest of his senses could run rampant; reliving the pain of old gunshots, the agony of being stabbed through the lung from the back, and the nerve-shredding feeling of being electrocuted.

Screaming for release, he tumbled through the black depths of his mind searching for escape. How had he fallen into such a place? How had these demons grown so large in the confines of his subconscious and how did he get out? Running from the monsters of his own creation, Marco stumbled, falling forward when there came a crash as he broke through a stained glass window. Eyes watching as the pieces hung suspended in time as he floated down to the ground, he found himself in the same cathedral from his dreams. No, not from his dreams. This place was familiar as was the sound of bombs in the distance and rapid gunfire while planes flew low overhead. 'I'm back in Dunkirk,' he realized as the sound of a fighter plane soared by and the ground shook as a bomb exploded, destroying the stained glass portrait of Mary Magdalene washing the feet of Jesus Christ.

"What are you doing here?" asked a familiar voice.

Eyes wide and immediately filled with tears when he recognized the soft French accent, he turned slowly as if the person would vanish as quickly as it had appeared. There standing in the eerie moonlight that peeked through the shattered windows and plumes of smoke was Renee. Still wearing her military garb with dirt staining the flak of her olive green jacket and fatigues, a single smudge of soot marked her delicate face that glowed in the dim light. She was beautiful, so horribly beautiful that it was near sickening.

"You shouldn't be here Marco," she urged as she closed the distance between them. "Darling you don't belong here."

"Renee, is it you?" Marco choked as his hands held her face. "It's you. Oh my God, it's you."

"Marco you need to listen to me. You shouldn't be here. It's not your time."

"What do you mean? I've come back for you."

"No Marco, no," Renee said gently as she shook her head. "You don't belong with me anymore." Kissing his palms as hers came up to hold them, she pulled them away from her face. "You're no longer mine, love. There's someone else who needs you."

"What?"

"He needs you to wake up Marco. If you don't he'll die trying to save you." Dissolving slowly into a plume of butterflies as the world around him collapsed back into darkness, Renee whispered in his ear, "Wake up."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ground shook as Marco gasped awake; breathing in frozen ice crystals as he choked on the cold air being heaved into his lungs. Fighting for control of his limbs, the brunette sat up--wincing at the pain in his ribs as he sat back on his haunches. The hair on the back of his head was caked with blood and his shoulders felt as if they had been broken then snapped back into place but at the wrong angle. Everything hurt and his eyesight was fuzzy around the edges which was what led him to believe he was hallucinating when he saw Jean wrapped up in vines of black and white fire. 'That's not right,' he thought to himself, gaze narrowing as the bottom half of the shape shifter Aude hit the ground after it had sliced in half.

He observed the steaming corpse evaporate while the blonde fell to his knees; likely exhausted from the exertion. But when Jean collapsed on the ground reality kicked in for Marco. 'He'll die trying to save you,' he remembered Renee saying. Willing his legs to move, the brunette rose on unsteady feet and stumbled over to the young man laying half-awake in the snow. Switching into her fox form, Sibylla began pawing at Jean's head, trying to rouse him. Her cries grew the longer he went without responding. Tugging at his hair and nosing at his face and ear, she begged him to wake up; eyes filled with tears when she looked up at Marco when he finally made it over to Jean.

"J-Jean," he croaked, voice a haggard rasp as trembling hands reached out to turn the blonde onto his back.

Blood was trickling out of the corner of his perfect lips and had stained his forehead and brow from the gash just above his crown. Breaths coming in long labored puffs, Marco recognized the abnormal pattern. Cheyne-stoking was something people only did when they were close to death. It was one of the things he remembered his mother telling him when he had gone with her to help deliver Mrs. Blake's child only to watch the mother die minutes after giving birth. The sound of that progressively slowing respiration pattern was something that stuck with because it was so unnerving--so chilling--since it were as though the body had given up and was gradually shutting down.

"No, no, no, no, no," Marco panicked as he regained full ownership of his senses. 

Looking him over to see where the primary injury was, the brunette's eyes went wide when he saw the gaping wound in his right oblique. It were as if the kid had been shot a point blank and the bullet ripped right through him. Untucking Jean's shirt, to get a better look at the injury, Marco felt sick to his stomach when he saw how torn up he was. There was no way he could heal this on his own. He may have been taught how to do quick mends and repair breaks and fractures, but Marco couldn't fix this. 'He'll die trying to save you,' he heard Renee's voice say again. 'In what world would I ever want you,' he heard himself say as he watched the life fade from Jean's eyes.

"No, Jean no, you can't do this," Marco growled as the tears streamed from his eyes while the hand he had placed over the wound struggled to repair the ruptured vessels that had begun to bleed out. "You stay awake Jean or I swear, I'll follow you straight up to heaven and pull you back down."

Unable to focus on everything being said, Jean lifted a hand to cup the side of Marco's beautiful face; his smile growing when he felt how warm his skin was. "I'm dreaming again," he rasped as tears dotted his forehead. "I'm happy that....that it's you I...get...to see...at...the end of it all."

"Don't say that Jean. You can't..."

"Hey Marco," the blonde said softly as their foreheads touched when Marco lost his grip and began sobbing uncontrollably. "I never...got to tell you but...I love you. Pretty funny...huh."

"I love you too Jean. I love you more than anything in this world, more than air, more than life. I love you so please don't leave. You can't tell me this and then let go like that."

"Sorry," Jean sputtered a laugh then gasped as his lungs tightened. "I'll see you...again though. Maybe...maybe we'll have better luck...next time."

"No, don't go," Marco begged, his voice small as his shaking intensified. "Please don't leave me."

"It's okay. You'll be fine."

"No I won't!"

Bringing Marco's other trembling hand to his lips, Jean kissed it weakly. "I love you," he breathed as the world faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are such idiots when it comes to matters of the heart but they mean well. Thank goodness they finally snapped out of it right? So here's the song I used while writing most of the heavy pensive dialogue and scenes between our two knuckleheads. I picked it because it's pretty much what both of them are thinking even though they both hold themselves back.
> 
>  
> 
> *BUSTED AND BLUE*  
> by Gorillaz
> 
> [Verse 1: 2D]  
> Where does it come from?  
> When everything was outside  
> Busted and blue  
> How in the universe?  
> Through the lithium  
> Busted and blue
> 
> [Verse 2: 2D]  
> I was asked by a computer  
> A shadow on the wall  
> An image made by Virgil  
> To rule over us all  
> So amplify the sirens  
> And to find real amends  
> I'm through the echo-chambers  
> To other worlds away
> 
> [Chorus: 2D & Kelela]  
> All my life  
> All my life  
> Beam a light on me  
> I am a satellite  
> And I can't get back without you  
> Be my love  
> Be my love  
> Be my light  
> Be my light
> 
> [Verse 3: 2D & Kelela]  
> Where do they come from?  
> The wires that connect to us  
> Weightless and fall on your body  
> 'Til we're invisible  
> I'm with you throughout it, choose  
> Busted and blue
> 
> [Chorus: 2D & Kelela]  
> All my life  
> All my life  
> Beam a light on me  
> I am a satellite  
> And I can't get back without you  
> Be my love  
> Be my love  
> Be my light  
> Be my light
> 
> [Outro: 2D]  
> Busted and blue


	10. Slow Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wounds are mended, cuts healed, and hearts repaired by their captors....
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> FINALLY!!: At long last, we've reached the fluff chapters. Ugh, I feel like it took an eternity getting here. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Toodles from your martian overlord,
> 
> -Mars

The world was a mindless blur of sound, darkness, and flashes of color as Jean faded in and out of consciousness. Everything had slowed down yet moved by so quickly in flurries of grey and white and black with pops of golden yellow and vivid red. He could hear voices calling to him. Swore he had seen Eren's frantic face hovering over his as he was deposited on some soft welcoming surface that comforted his aching bones. Moments later it was Levi that he saw busying himself with removing Jean's suit jacket and stained button-down when Ymir came into view. She was saying something to him--likely to stay awake--but Jean couldn't make out the words. Couldn't understand any of what was happening so his eyes followed the pattern of her lips before his sight failed.

He felt weightless; like he was floating in the abyss as everything spiraled away. All form of sound, sight, and touch fled from Jean like shadows scattering when the light came on. There were blips of clarity when he'd come up from the undertow that held him under. He could recall hearing Levi telling Ymir that some of the black magic he'd been hit with was still eating away at his energy which was stunting the healing process. Then he faded out, sinking deeper as he drifted. Marco's voice broke through once or twice as he tried to keep his cool while talking to Jean in the hopes that it'd lure the young man back into the waking world. Jean could feel a slight stinging in his side, a pulsating sensation in his palm that crept up his arm and sooth his erratic heartbeat. But this too faded, accompanied by the panicked call of Marco and Ymir whose voice seemed so much closer yet so far away at the same time.

Tumbling aimlessly through space he could feel the life leaving him. Could tell that his body was failing him as it grew cold and his breathing slowed. But it wasn't as terrifying as Jean thought it would be; dying that is. It was quiet, intimate almost in the sense that he was closer to his thoughts than he ever had been. All the anger, frustration, remorse, and sorrow he had carried around for years evaporated to be replaced by an outstanding sense of peace. He felt a warmth bubble up from within his chest and spread like roots taking hold of the soil beneath them. Hovering--suspended in time and space--he felt rested; calm and content with his fate in that moment.

"You giving up now kiddo?" Jean heard a voice say.

Eyes shifting under the weight of closed lids, Jean searched for the source of the sound. "Dad?"

"You won't get anything done if you sleep all day Jean." There was an audible smile in Gabe's voice that Jean could hear. It was the same expression his old man had every time he poked fun at his lack of motivation to wake up in the mornings. "Come on, there's things to be done."

Whimpering as the sensation of a familiar calloused palm gently brushed the hair away from his face, the blonde tried to reach for him but his arms wouldn't move. Everything hurt and his limbs refused to cooperate with his wishes; screaming in protest as they pinned themselves to his sides. It was agonizing not being able to hold onto that hand one last time; to not get to hug him and tell him to stay like he had wanted to that morning Gabe left home for the last time.

"Don't go," Jean sniffled as the hand ruffled his hair. "Please dad, don't leave."

"I never did kiddo." A pair of lips kissed the top of his head before whispering, "I'll always be with you."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Eyes fluttering open with a quiet gasp, Jean stared at the familiar fan mounted to his ceiling as the remainder of the tears that had formed in his sleep trailed down his fair cheeks. It had been years since he had had such a vivid dream of his father. Despite not being able to see him, Jean could hear his voice clearly, smelled his woodsy cologne, and could feel the gentleness and familiarity in his touch as Gabe's hand ruffled his hair. He wished he could have hugged him one more time; held onto him and apologized for the fight they had gotten into the night before he left for work. Wished he could take back what he had said and convince him not to leave. But like before, Jean could feel an unseen kindness blossom in his chest, radiate love before settling close to his heart.

Reaching up with the only one of his hands that seemed to cooperate with him, Jean placed his palm over the spot that throbbed. "Dad...."

Pulled from his reverie by a breathy snore that broke through the quietness that filled the room, the blonde looked down; his expression swiftly switching to one of humor and adoration when he saw Sibylla asleep next to him. Last he remembered, she had switched into her fox form--the white fur of her chest stained with the monsters blood--and had started tugging at him and nipping his ears in an attempt to keep him awake. Now in her human state, she held him tight like a child holding onto their parent for fear of creatures coming to get them in their sleep. Her small hand clutched the fabric of his gray henley while her face was nuzzled into his side with the slightest furrow in her brow.

How Jean had gotten lucky enough to be paired with a familiar as sweet and caring as her, he'd never know. Sibylla was always keeping tabs on him; making sure he didn't overwork himself and ate properly. She was a funny little thing that was constantly getting into trouble--more so than him--but was as graceful as a rhino when they weren't training. Loyal to the very end, he couldn't imagine what would have happened if he had actually died. It was such a close call that Jean believed that he had been dead for a moment or two; like his heart remembered having stopped for a good couple of minutes or so. If he had remained that way, what would have happened to her?

Combing his hand through her curly red hair that stuck out in every direction in a crown of fire, Jean chuckled when she groaned then smacked her lips together in her sleep two then three times. 'Little dork,' he thought with a warm smile. The poor familiar must have been exhausted because, knowing her, she hadn't rested until she was sure he was safe. It was so like Sibylla to overdo it with her worrying when it came to her person. She adored him, was so fond of her master that she'd walk through fire for him. Ymir had even commented that their bond wasn't a common one. True, familiars were protective of their witches because of the close link they shared. But what Jean had with Sibylla was something else. It was more akin to siblings; like twins reunited after being kept from one another for so long.

Bending his head down enough so that he could kiss the top of her head, Jean moved the arm she had pinned between her chest and his side around so that he could rub her back. Smile growing as she whined, shifted in place, and mushed her face into his ribs, the young man couldn't stop the infectious fondness from spreading when her head tilted and her sweet amber eyes opened. This must have been what he looked like when he was little and his parents told him to wake up in the morning after he had snuck into their bed the night before. With both eyes squinted to combat the sunlight pouring in from the window, the rest of her face--from her freckled nose and cheeks down--was hidden in the blanket.

"Mornin' kiddo," Jean said; his voice taking on the same comforting tone as his fathers. "You sleep alright?"

A single tear rolled over her cheek followed by a sniffle as she shook her head. "Uh huh."

"Hey, why are you crying Sib? I'm okay. I'm still here so you don't need to cry."

"I know but you came so close to not being here," she sniffled again, now burying all of her face in his shirt as her face flushed. "I was so scared Kit. You almost left me behind."

Feeling her pain, Jean rolled onto his side while encircling her petite frame in his arms. "I'd never leave you behind Sibylla."

"Because we're a team?"

Nodding, he kissed her head. "Yeah, we're a team."

Jean wasn't sure how long they stayed that way, wrapped up together with Sibylla crying quietly in his arms and him stroking her hair soothingly to ease any lingering doubt or fear. At one point she had started trembling from the intensity of her tears. It was shocking how greatly she cherished him; didn't know he was worth that much to someone. As the familiar calmed down and the cries quieted, there was a knock at the door. Before Jean could answer, the entrance opened and in stepped Marco.

They regarded each other for a long lingering moment, eyes drinking in the sight of each other's face for the first time since the fight; for the first time since Jean had nearly lost his life. There was something different in the way the brunette looked at him. Whereas before there was restraint, fear, and longing there was now love and thankfulness but also pain and sorrow. Marco looked as if he had wandered into a beautiful dream and wanted to savor it before having to wake up. There was so much both of them wanted to say but couldn't; not while they were in the company of another.

"Sib, how about you go wash up and get something to eat," Jean spoke softly, trying to hide the pounding of his heart with the smile he offered her. "I'll be right down after I talk to Marco."

Glancing over to the brunette, she glared at him for a hot second before sighing. "Fine," Sibylla pouted as she hopped down from the bed still wearing her seafoam green sleeping shirt. "But if he starts messing with you I'll bite him to death."

Unable to stop himself from laughing, Jean gave her a pat on the head before she left; giving the brunette an audible "hmph!" on the way out. Sibylla had never been particularly fond of Marco. She had even asked on numerous occasions what he saw in the guy while he was trying to concentrate on studying for his exams. It was clear that she'd much rather him be with someone like Liam. Considering the jokes she had been making about them the night of the gala, it was obvious he had won her over. But Jean couldn't stop himself. As far as he was concerned, he could only ever have eyes for the man standing before him in that very moment.

Taking a step forward, Marco's heart raced wildly in his chest as those amber eyes he loved so dearly looked upon him as if they had never fought, as if he had never yelled such hateful words at the young man. He wanted to run to him, take Jean in his arms and never let go. Wanted to kiss him until the angels came down to retrieve the young man then follow him up to heaven because life on earth would be nothing without him there. Wanted to confess everything to Jean, to hideaway in his embrace, and rest peacefully against that chest that felt so warm beneath his fingers. All of this and more was so clear in his eyes that it was almost unbearable for Jean. He could feel the shift in moods; the change in their relationship as if the ground itself had altered its configuration the evening Marco had held him in his arms weeping for him to stay.

Jean could have held out longer; should have made Marco work just a little bit more before caving. But he was as starved for his affection as much as the brunette was for his. He couldn't take another moment apart because he knew. Knew from the look in Marco's eyes that the words he had heard before blacking out were true. That confession he heard between broken sobs and pleas for him to stay was real. It was something he could rely on, invest in, and trust without a shadow of a doubt. Smiling from the bed, Jean extended his hand out.

"Come 'ere," was all he said.

It happened so fast, Marco rushing to his side, collecting his still sore body into his arms, and holding him so tenderly while the fingers of his left hand tangled in Jean's flaxen hair. He couldn't tell who had started crying first but the salt punctuated the kisses the brunette had began to shower over his smiling face. Whispering Jean's name between "thank god" and "you're alive, you're still here," Marco began to shake. All of his carefully built barriers and walls--the defenses he had spent lifetimes erecting all came crashing down. Weak heart exposed, he opened himself up to the obliterating force of love and let it sweep him away in its current. He didn't want to live alone anymore. Didn't want to spend another morning alone with his house plants and cigarettes as company. Didn't want to wake up on his own after a nightmare had forced him to rise early. Marco wanted see the sunrise through new eyes. Wanted to share his mornings, afternoons, and evenings with the man nestled in his arms. Wanted to breathe in all that was Jean and spend the remainder of his days wrapped up in that loving gaze.

"I love you," Marco confessed again in between kisses to Jean's lips that were still healing from the punch they'd received. "I love you so much, so so much. Please don't leave."

Blinking past the tears, Jean smiled as his arms reached around to hold Marco as close as possible. "It's okay, I won't leave."

"Promise? Please, promise me you won't."

Kissing the side of the brunette's head, Jean closed his eyes. "I promise I won't leave." Stroking his silken brown hair, he couldn't have been happier than he was in that moment. "I love you Marco."

\-------------------------------------------------------------

It had been nearly a week since the gala and three days since Jean had woken up from the deep sleep spell he had been under while his body recovered from its injuries. Legs still pinching at the hips where he had slammed down hard during the fight and knees uncertain, his morning jogs took longer than they usually did. Marco, who had come over every single day to check in on him before leaving for work, insisted that he take it easy and rest rather than straining his body more than it already was. But still, Jean laced up his shoes every day at six and went on his run. 

So much had changed in his life that it was little moments like this that kept him grounded in the reality he knew to be true. The doctors diagnosis of him being schizophrenic wasn't true. Jean being a witch that could see and hear the denizens around him, that was true. His nightmares being a product of stress that had been inherited from his father, that was false. Him being a plains walker with a beldam trying to consume his life, that was true. Marco hating him and wanting nothing to do with him, that was false. It was so horribly false yet the reality of their relationship still felt like a dream.

Since he had woken up from his stasis, a day hadn't gone by that Jean wasn't reassured by Marco about how much he loved him. Between the kisses, the quiet lunches they spent relaxing on the couch at the office together, and embraces on the front porch after work that got longer and longer every time impressed the brunettes adoration onto his heart as if it were being branded into him. Jean would have never expected Marco to be this affectionate; was almost worried that he was only being this loving because of the near-death experience they had both lived through. But the traitorous thoughts would vanish every time he saw that smile paint the brunette's beautiful face.

It occurred to Jean, as they laid on the plush leather couch in their shared office, that Marco had always been this way. Underneath all those layers, the levels of hardened grit fortified after a lifetime of service to his country, and the pain of losing the people closest to him, Marco harbored a tender heart that sought out love the same way a child cried out for their mother in the dim of the night. He was considerate, protective, and affectionate; had already memorized every dip and curve of Jean's body as his hands explored it as they dozed off together. The small kisses to his forehead and rub of his cheek against Jeans was his way of saying what his mouth could not. It was so sweet--so loving--that it was hard for Jean's heart to take in all at once.

"Hey Marco," Jean mused as he traced circles into the brunettes back as they laid stretched out on the couch. "I was wondering something."

"Hmm?"

Hesitating as he wondered if it was too soon to ask, Jean bit his lip as he turned his face to the side so that he could hide his blush. "Did you want to spend the night at my place? I was just wondering since it's closer to work and you've been waking up extra early so you can check in on me before clocking on. But if you don't want t--"

"I'd love to," Marco breathed dreamily as he gave a gentle squeeze to Jean's waist.

"Really? It's not too soon or anything?"

Chuckling, the brunette shook his head. "If anything, I'd say it's about time we do."

Jean smirked. "Yeah. Took us long enough to get here."

"Yeah." Eyes opening just a crack, Marco stared at his hands that were pressed into Jean's back and waist. "It did take us long enough but you understand why I hesitated right?"

"Does it have to do with my age?"

"More like mine. Jean," he said parting just enough so that they could look at one another. "I'm close to being two hundred years old. Everyone I knew from my youth is dead except for my sister. Any partner I have ever shared a bed with has been long gone because I always fell for a human."

"That's because you're human, Marco," Jean said with a kind smile while reaching up to card his fingers through Marco's thick wavy hair. "I think you forget that sometimes. Just because you're cursed doesn't mean you aren't human."

"But I've lived long enough to out-live the human part of me; for the most part at least. I didn't want to fall for you because watching you grow old and..." Lips quivering, Marco bit his bottom lip while trying to get a handle on these raw emotions that he had only started feeling again. "Losing you, which will eventually happen, is going to be the most agonizing pain I will ever know. Last Saturday when you...when I almost lost you, I thought the world would collapse around me. I thought that by putting distance between us I could let you have a decent life. Give you the chance to meet someone else, fall in love, have a family... But I snapped because you'd become too important by that point. That's why it took us so long. If I had acted on instinct I would have asked you out the night we ran into each other in the forest. But I was afraid."

Quietly absorbing every word, the pieces finally fell into place. Jean hadn't been wrong when he thought that there were sparks between them earlier on when Marco was just another customer at the shop. They had been flirting with one another, he had kissed him on purpose that night when he walked him home, and knew he didn't work Thursdays because he had been keeping track; came in on the days Jean worked just so he could see him. It hurt so much because it was so horribly sweet and romantic to reflect back on. 

True, it took them a long while to get here, to finally admit that they were more than just a little attached to one another. But even so, looking back on it, Jean wouldn't have changed a thing. He'd take the good and the bad and the ugly if he had to do it all over again because the payoff was worth it. Their bond had been strengthened by the stress that had been applied to it. Their love made pure by the heartache and their trust supported by the trials they had endured together. They understood one another better than most others; had become familiar with one another's quirks in the short time they had known each other. So yes, it was about time but, then again, they were right on time and what a perfectly timed romance it was.

"Marco," Jean spoke as his hands slid up between them so that he could frame the brunettes face in his palms. "It's okay to be afraid. It's okay to be anxious, to worry, to be confused about it all. Life is terrifying which is why we're given people along the way to make it better. I'm not going to live forever but neither will you. Whatever happens here won't be the end of us. But while we're here, let's enjoy the time we have together because the only decent life I want is with you. 'Kay?"

Smiling softly, Marco pressed their foreheads together. "'Kay."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Marco had never been so anxious in all his life. In all the 185 years that he had been on earth, never had his heart beat so wildly as it had when he was getting dressed for their date. 'Date...' he thought as he peered into his closet mindlessly perusing through his shirts. He hadn't been on a date in over seventy-eight years. Or at least, not a serious one. He'd hooked up with nameless men and women but hadn't had an actual romantic partner in over seven decades.

Jean hadn't placed any expectations on the evening; simply said he wanted them to be able to relax with one another. But what exactly did that entail? Was it going to be dinner and a movie on the couch before falling asleep? Were they going to spend the entire night talking; that being something Marco still had to better himself in since it still felt a bit awkward talking about himself and all he had lived through. Or would the mood get the better of them? Would their evening end up leading them somewhere Marco wasn't sure he was ready to go even if his lower half strongly disagreed?

The nausea built the longer he delayed himself so biting back the nerves, he picked out a pair of black joggers, a white scoop neck t-shirt, his gray hoodie layered under his black leather jacket and called it a day. Not having enough patience to fuss with his contacts, Marco figured he'd wear his glasses for the evening. He had never liked the way they looked on him; giving him an overly mature appearance like he was trying to hard to be older than he was. The thin black box frames took up so much real estate on his face that it felt like they were wearing him instead of the other way around. Groaning when he caught his reflection, he dragged his hands through his hair--jumbling the waves into an unruly crown atop his head. 

Looking at the clock on his nightstand as it hit 9:35 p.m., Marco didn't waste another second fussing over how ridiculous he looked in his glasses or if he was dressed too casually. Slipping on his trusty pair of red low-tops, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door. It was going to be strange, having their familiars around as they cozied up with each other. Especially so since Sibylla still hated him--probably would for a while--and Barron didn't understand their relationship at all. The poor guy had tried wrapping his head around it, tried putting himself in his masters shoes, but still he didn't get why they were so drawn to each other. 'Guess it's a weird human thing,' Barron had said a couple days ago after he had thrown in the towel on trying to decipher the puzzle that was Marco's love for Jean. 

Maybe that's what made life so terrifying yet totally worth it was the frightening but addictive feeling love provided. It was the one thing in existence that could hurt so badly yet make people crave it more. After all, Marco was scared at every turn but still pursued this relationship because of the incredible high he got whenever Jean laughed or smiled, whenever he said his name or kissed him sweetly on the cheek. His last romance had thoroughly turned him off of seeking the affections of another for over seventy years; had cut too deep and hurt too much to spring back quickly. Chances were that this would turn out the same with Jean passing and Marco being inconsolable since he was certain the blonde was his person; the one he had waited three lifetimes to meet. But even so, his wants outweighed his reason.

Pulling up to the familiar brick facade of Jean's home that was still covered in elegant arms of climbing ivy, the brunette shut off the car then took a deep grounding breath. He shouldn't be worrying so much. They wanted the same thing, to relax and just spend some time together. Yet still, his mind raced and his heart fluttered when he saw the light in Jean's bedroom window; catching the silhouette as the young man passed by the frame. Strengthening his resolve, he left the car with both hands shoved in to his pant pockets. The walk up to the front door was spent with him repeating "please don't let his friends be home, please don't let his friends be home" like a prayer. Seeing Eren and Armin would only make him more awkward even though they'd run into each other eventually.

Knocking on the door, Marco breathed easy when, minutes later, he saw Jean on the other side as the entrance swung open. Framed by golden light like an angel from on high, the young man was so beautiful; so much more than Marco's words could ever hope to describe. Dressed in a simple cream henley, a pair of dark navy joggers, and maroon Vans he had just slid on to come down stairs, it was the bright smile on his handsome face that made him look like he was wearing a ten million dollar suit. The way it met his eyes and lit them up like fireflies glowing in embers was a sight the brunette would never forget.

Closing the distance between them, Jean kissed him without hesitation. "Don't worry, Armin's at Mika's and Eren's spending the night with Levi."

"Thank God," Marco breathed before relaxing into the embrace. Wrapping his arms around Jean's lean waist, he pulled him in closer; needing more of his body heat, more of his touch, more Jean. "I missed you."

"We've only been apart for six hours, Marco."

"That's six hours too long."

"Nerd," the blonde smirked with a soft kiss to his lover's freckled nose. "By the way, those glasses look really good on you. You should wear them more often."

"Really? I can't stand these things. I'm only wearing them because my contacts were starting to bother me."

"Mmm, well I think you look hot." Kissing him playfully quick on the cheek, Jean took Marco's hand in his and led the man inside. "Also, you can relax. There's no pressure to do anything tonight. Let's just be lazy and hangout. Sound good?"

"That sounds perfect actually. Sorry. Guess I'm a little more tense than I thought I'd be."

Squeezing his hand gently, the blonde gave a sheepish smile. "Same. It's been a while since I've been with anyone so I'm kinda nervous. Let's just chill and see where the night goes. 'Kay?"

"Yeah," Marco beamed back.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was easy, so incredibly easy, being with Jean that Marco spent the first couple hours of their evening wondering if the other shoe was going to drop or if--for once--life was cutting both he and the blonde a break. The conversations flowed naturally as did the laughter, the quiet moments, and the more intense discussions that he normally would have shied away from. They held nothing back from one another; laid it all out in the open as if they were peeling back the layers of their hearts to expose the innermost workings of their souls. Marco should have been afraid. Should have ended the conversation when it got too heavy but the fact that it was Jean he was telling these secrets to was what compelled him to keep going.

After dinner which took up the better half of the evening because they couldn't pull themselves away from the table, the couple lazed about on the numerous blankets, duvets, and pillows they had gathered together at the foot of the couch in the loft space on the second floor. With the lights dimmed as the snow slowly fell outside, they huddled together as Jean taught Marco the finer points of survival horror games with Alien Isolation as the example. With his character hiding in a locker as the alien passed, the blonde gnawed on his lip waiting for the opportune moment to make a run for the lift. His partner didn't understand that the objective wasn't to kill the creature because it wouldn't die no matter how many times he shot it. It was why Marco kept telling him to just shoot the damn thing and run for the transport.

It was a blessing that Eren had screwed up the Kinect on the console a few months ago because Jean would have died with all the whispering going on between him and Marco. However, he didn't last much longer than he would've if the microphone had been setup because the blonde couldn't hear the alien sneaking up on him from the back. Jumping in place shouting "holy fucking shit!" as Ripley was killed, Jean lost a hold on the control. It flew up for a brief second then came back down hitting him on the head. Off to his right Marco had buckled over laughing at how easily he scared. He would never tell him, but the brunette had distracted him on purpose just to see what would happen if the monster got the jump on him.

"Damn it! And I was so close to the next transport!" Jean whined as he slumped back against the foot of the couch with a frown tugging down at the corners of his lips and furrowing the space between his brows. "Fuck, now I have to start from the last checkpoint and go through that whole maze again."

"Sorry babe, that must suck," Marco said sweetly though there was an obvious smile in his tone.

Arching a suspicious brow as the man kissed the three beauty marks on the back of his neck, the blonde shot him a sideways glance. "You wouldn't have happened to have done that on purpose just to see me scared, would you've, Marco?"

"Hmm? No, of course not."

"Liar, I can feel that shit eating grin on my skin," Jean smirked as he poked at Marco's ribs; something he had only recently found out caused the man to squirm. "You got me killed on purpose."

"I would never."

"You totally did! Look, you can't even keep a straight expression!"

Rolling onto his side with a little help from the blonde pushing him on the arm, Marco couldn't stop laughing. It was just a game yet Jean was so upset about getting killed by the alien. He wanted to sympathize but that pout on his face made it worth the pillow smack to his face. Blocking the second blow to his head, the brunette grabbed the cushion his partner was holding onto and tugged him forward so that we was lying on top of him. Before Jean could speak, Marco's lips met his in a warm embrace that soothed any sore feeling he may have had.

Forgetting the game the instant the petal smooth skin touched his, Jean relaxed into the kiss. Pressing into Marco's warm form as if it were the sunlight and he were a flower seeking its light, the blonde melted at tips of his fingers as they swept teasingly up the elegant curve of his spine. Not hesitating when the brunette parted his lips with a playful nip to his, Jean deepened the embrace; nearly dying of glee when Marco's tongue brushed over his.

It was intoxicating; hot and perfect in every way as their mouths moved together in perfect harmony. Jean could feel Marco's lips turn up into a sly smile when a soft airy moan escaped his lungs and resonated through the room. Without even thinking, he rocked his hips against the brunette's wanting so much more as the warmth bubbling between them sparked. A shiver shot through Jean when Marco's confident yet gentle hands smoothed down his sides before finding purchase on his hips; both thumbs rubbing sweet circles into the sensitive dimples that sat hidden at the base of his spine. It were as if they had already done this before; had already spent years acquainting themselves with each other's weaknesses, knowing what made one another lose control.

Grinding back into the body pushing down on him, Marco could feel his reason slipping while his instincts slowly overrode whatever doubts or reservations he may have had. He had spent the better half of six months pining over someone he thought he could never have; dreaming about them almost every single night like some misty vision bestowed upon a prophet. Those golden shimmering eyes that gazed down at him through a thick veil of lashes scored Jean's name upon his heart. Those lips that met his with equal fervor and those hands that combed through his hair with fingers twisting and tangling in his chocolate brown waves. That voice that called to him like a siren beckoning him out to sea.

Nothing and no one could be as perfect as Jean. What a fool Marco had been trying to distance himself from the young man when they were so clearly made for one another. 'Took me long enough,' he smirked as the realization made its home in his heart where it'd live for the rest of his days. Looking around quickly without breaking their embrace, Marco was thankful to see that their familiars had vacated the premises. He didn't exactly want an audience present for what he was about to do.

"Marco," Jean moaned in the brunette's ear as a pair of hands massaged the muscle of his firm backside. "Fuck," the blonde breathed as the mans thumbs teased the edge of his pants, "please don't stop. Marco--"

Gasping as the hands dipped under his pants and skimmed over the flesh that was still covered by his boxers, Jean couldn't stop the longing groan as Marco bit at his Adam's apple then kissed a trail to his jaw. Acting purely on instinct now, the blonde ground their hips together even harder; their rapidly hardening lengths trapped between their sweltering forms that twisted and melted at each other's every touch. Jean wanted more. Couldn't stop himself from whimpering and moaning as the hands holding on to him grew surer and gripped him harder.

Biting Marco's earlobe, Jean growled lowly, "Stop teasing me."

"Sorry," the brunette chuckled; his voice a sultry rasp as he kissed the young man with enough force to take his breath away. "I couldn't help myself. Your so hot when you call my name like that."

"It's not like I'm going to stop if you keep going," the blonde teased; a shiver rolling up his back causing his spine to bow when he felt the hard grind of Marco's length press into his. "Jesus, please keep going baby," he moaned as the pet name snuck its way past his defenses. "Touch me more. I want you so bad."

Licking his lips as he glanced from that tantalizing neck hovering over his lips to the spot where their pelvises met, Marco breathed heavily. "How? Where do you want me to touch you?"

Growling again, Jean pushed his now fully erect cock against Marco's. "Here," he said past gritted teeth. "I want you to touch me here."

Now it was Marco's turn to moan long and loud as Jean pressed down against him; eyes fluttering close as the heavenly sensation lit his nerves on fire. When his pools of deep moody brown met the blonde's gleaming amber, their lips collided as the wildfire consuming them was stoked higher. Confident hands soaring over Jean's lean hips, Marco tugged both his sweats and boxers down enough that it would free his trapped length. Still unsatisfied despite the grateful sigh that escaped him when the warm air hit his cock, the blonde dug his fingers into the fabric of his partner's pants, urging him to do the same.

Happily obeying, the relief was almost unbearable when their lengths touched for the first time; the feeling of skin against skin driving them both into a near frenzy as their mouths met. Neither of them had counted on this happening. The entire point of that evening was to cut loose and spend some time relaxing together. And like everything else that had happened, they were just going with the flow, letting it drag them out to sea and away from the shores of reason. Jean knew they weren't going to go all the way. Could sense that small thread of rationality Marco was holding onto and respected his wishes. But that didn't mean they couldn't enjoy one another in a different way.

Panting hard as Marco took both their lengths in his hand, Jean rolled his hips forward to garner more friction. He was drunk; so high on the addictive touch of those strong hands that burned their mark into his skin. Looking down, the blonde felt his heart crumble and reassemble when he saw the mixed expression of adoration, lust, and awe on Marco's face. The words of love that tumbled off his tongue like wine from a bottle and the devotion and determination in his eyes as he urged Jean closer to the edge was overwhelming. Unable to do much because he was totally wasted at the tips of those skilled fingers, the young man knotted his hands in Marco's hair, pulled him in for a long heated kiss that was all tongue and teeth, and didn't think as his climax began to coil up in the pit of his stomach.

"M-Marco," Jean panted against those kiss-swollen lips with the beauty mark hidden in the left corner. "Marco, I'm gonna cum. Fuck, I want to cum."

"Do it," Marco cooed dreamily as he kissed him; their noses brushing and sweat beading on their foreheads. "Let me see you when you cum. Please Jean, let me see you."

With a final stroke and twist of the brunette's wrist, Jean was overtaken by his orgasm. "Fuck! Marcooo!"

As Jean trembled while the brunette jerked him through his peak, he kept going; kept moving his hips and pushing his cock against Marco's because he wanted his partner to feel just as good as him. He wanted to see that gorgeous face crumple under the crushing weight of rapture as he was swept away. Kissing Marco along his neck and jaw as his fingers tightened in his hair and tugged, he felt the mans hips snap forward as his release washed over him. Moaning Jean's name loud enough that the sweet sound would haunt him forever, the brunette rode out his climax that left him limp and breathless.

"That was unexpected," Jean breathed with a cheeky smile as he laid atop Marco; his ear pressed over the mans heart. Smiling at the sound of the strong steady beat, he closed his eyes. "And also amazing."

"Mmmm," Marco hummed contentedly. "I can't remember the last time I felt this good. The way you move your hips is magic babe."

Smile growing as the brunette let go of the pet name he had called him earlier for a second time, Jean bit his lip. "Well three years on your high school dance team will do that."

"You were on a dance team?" Marco asked humorously as he lifted his head enough to look at his partner. "Seriously?"

"Mhmm. I was the captain for the last two years. We did more pop-lock, ticking, break-dancing, and shuffling than anything else."

"Well that performance deserves a medal." Head dropping back onto the pillow he sighed. "Fuck, that was good."

Kissing Marco's chin, Jean chuckled. "Ready for bed?"

"Yeah but I don't want to move."

"We could always camp out in here. The couch pulls out into a trundle bed. And we could watch the snow fall while we fall asleep."

Looking up at the large long glass pane that took up half the ceiling space, Marco's smile grew. "That sounds wonderful."

"'Kay. First we got to clean up and change."

"I can just sleep in what I--"

"Marco, we just jerked each other two ways to Sunday. There's no way we're sleeping in what we're wearing. I've got sweats and a shirt that'll fit you."

"You sure?"

"Mhmm," the blonde assured him as he tucked both their cocks back into their pants before placing a sweet innocent kiss on his cheek. "You can use my bathroom to clean up. I have a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. While you do that I'll find you something to wear and make the bed."

"I can help you, you know," the brunette said as he sat up taking a quick minute to look around at the mess they had made. "At least let me give you a hand with the bed."

"Alright, if you insist."

"I do." Kissing Jean's chin while his arms settled around the blonde's waist as they took a minute to sit, Marco flashed him a little wink. "'Kay, let's go wash up."

Deciding to save water--and also because neither of them could tear themselves away from one another at this point--Marco and Jean rinsed off together; taking their time under the hot stream of water as it worked their stiff muscles loose and erased the pent up stress accrued from another long week. Watching as the suds the blonde washed out of his flaxen hair trailed down the elegant curve of his back, over the perfect form of his backside, and wrapped around his toned thighs, Marco had to fight the urge to pick up where they'd left off. Maybe he had indulged too much and had opened up the flood gates to an even deeper pool of desire. Forcing an innocent smile when Jean turned around, the young man gave a knowing smirk. He was so transparent; had nowhere to hide when those amber eyes were focused on him.

Taking a bit longer in the shower than planned because, as it turned out, neither of them could keep their greedy hands under control, the two got dressed; now thoroughly exhausted after that second go under the hot water. With a towel slung over his shoulders, Jean set the thermostat for the loft to seventy; smiling as the heater came on. Draping the terry cloth over the coffee table they had moved to the side so that it could dry while they slept, the blonde sat down on the right side of the bed while Marco stretched his tired arms and back before taking up the left side. The moment Jean's head met the pillow, he felt a warm arm wrap around his stomach and pull him closer.

"You were too far away," Marco whispered as he nestled in behind the young man.

Heart fluttering more than ever, Jean reached up to hold onto the brunette's freckled forearm as a shy smile painted his face. "Sorry. I'll stick close."

"Mmm," he hummed in response. Kissing the line of three beauty marks that dotted the nape of the blonde's fair neck, Marco closed his eyes with gentle sigh. "I love you Jean."

Closing his eyes, Jean settled in comfortably with one last kiss to the joint of Marco's wrist. "I love you Marco. Night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another inspiration song for ya'll to chew on. This time, it's a two-paterer with the songs I used to outline the new romance between Marco and Jean. It wanted something that wove together the lighthearted playfulness and adoration they feel when with one another and this song fit perfectly. Also, as some of you who have read my other fics may know, I am a Sea Wolf fanatic; can't get enough of them. So it'd make sense that they'd show up somewhere. LoL. Now, here from me to you, is our boys' new anthems.
> 
>  
> 
> *THE ROSE CAPTAIN*  
> by Sea Wolf
> 
> This part's for my love of old  
> How the rose in your heart you hold  
> Still all the water in your wells won't make it grow
> 
> Oh, the call of the nightingale  
> How I love beneath the ghostly sails  
> We move like gypsies 'neath the mist and beneath the gloom
> 
> Oh, how the river flows  
> Under the ice and snow  
> The keeper of the flame  
> The rose captain knows my name  
> This perfume breath I breathed  
> For you my dear, my love will never leave
> 
> This part's for my love of new  
> How the bulbs in my heart are true  
> They send the shoots through my fingers into your bones
> 
> Oh, the call of the collared dove  
> How I long to be your one true love  
> We'll move like gypsies 'neath the stars and beneath the moon
> 
> Oh, how the river flows  
> Under the ice and snow  
> The keeper of the flame  
> The rose captain knows our names  
> This perfume breath we breathed  
> For you my dear, my love,  
> Will never leave
> 
> Oh, the rose captain knows, knows our names  
> Oh, the rose captain knows, he knows our names
> 
>  
> 
> *WICKED BLOOD*  
> by Sea Wolf
> 
> We met in the east  
> Poured in like a flood  
> You're the whispering kind  
> Dark sapphire blood  
> You're a vision of veils  
> All shimmery white  
> Like a backdrop of sails  
> All aglow from the light  
> Of the wonder behind  
> At a starry night
> 
> In the mountain's song  
> In the blue jay's call  
> My heartbeat flows  
> In crystal water falls  
> You were so beautiful  
> In your elegant bed  
> You'd have my blues  
> For your Nantucket reds  
> I'd wait in the dark  
> Balanced on a thread  
> So I'd wait in the dark  
> Balanced on this thread
> 
> And under the church-light  
> You stand there  
> With your wicked blood and your curls  
> Yeah, under the church-light  
> You stand there  
> In your fur and your pearls  
> These lines were here  
> Long before we came around  
> Yeah, these lines were here  
> And there's an ember in the rafters  
> And it's going to bring this whole thing down
> 
> In the neon mist  
> I heard you breathe  
> An exquisite sound  
> Some secret symphony  
> Your silken skin  
> My fingers rough  
> In the midnight dim  
> We went home and touched  
> Beneath the chandeliers  
> And your Persian's dust  
> Beneath your chandeliers  
> And your Persian's dust
> 
> And under the church-light  
> You stand there  
> With your wicked blood and your curls  
> Yeah, under the church-light  
> You stand there  
> In your fur and your pearls  
> These lines were here  
> Long before we came around  
> Yeah, these lines were here  
> And there's an ember in the rafters  
> And it's going to bring this whole thing down


	11. Pray For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's team receives their next assignment to capture a rouge daemon with time working against them. However, to catch it before more damage can be dealt, Kat must call on an old friend for help while members of her squad come to terms with what's at stake.

"No," Kat said firmly as she threw the case file down on the long oval conference table in the room adjacent to the main offices. "I absolutely refuse."

"I think you forget that I'm your superior and that this is a direct order," Erwin countered from his seat at the head of the table; brows knitted together with frustration and fingers pitched up in a peak atop which his chin rested. "You don't have a say in this Arcadi." Pausing as the door opened and Marco, Jean, and Levi entered the room, the reaper breathed a short sigh of relief. "Finally, someone else for her to yell at. Hurry and take a seat."

"No, don't take a seat because there's nothing to talk about," Kat growled.

"Fucking Christ, what's got your goat?" Levi asked with an arched brow.

"None of your damn business."

"Really 'cause it looks like you're about to blow a gasket," Marco snarked with a sly smirk.

Slamming his hand down hard enough to snap everyone to attention, Erwin's patience had run out. "All of you shut the fuck up and sit down."

Unwilling to go against the mounting fury of death incarnate, the three agents sat down with Jean and Marco to Kat's right and Levi to her left. They all knew this likely had to do with the new case file they had found on their desks early that morning when they came into work. The document was fairly sparse meaning only one thing: the vital information that was missing was too sensitive to be written down. Erwin wouldn't have called them into a private meeting if it wasn't. He was a busy man with places to go and souls to harvest so for him to take time out of his schedule meant this case was way outside of the norm. The man wouldn't have brought in his top three huntsmen if it was something the guys over in "cleaning" could handle.

"Right, since you just got here, I'll quickly bring you up to speed. There's been a series of murders happening across the eastern seaboard and the perpetrator has talent for disemboweling and removing the faces of his victims, all of which are light order denizens. Our forensic team examined the bodies and discovered traces amounts of phosphorus pentoxide, sulfuric acid, and sodium hydroxide."

"Meaning...?" Jean asked as he was the only one in the room who seemed confused by what that meant.

"It means there's a daemon on the loose," Marco answered before Erwin had the chance; his expression going dark and unreadable. "Fucking hell, I can't believe this is happening again."

"Daemon? What the fuck is a daemon?"

"They're the monsters that make up Hell's legions," Levi added.

"You mean a demon?"

"No, I mean a daemon," Levi said folding his arms across his chest with a heavy sigh. "It makes sense you wouldn't know but, just like there's caste systems on earth, there's one in place in Hell too. At the top is Lucifer, the fallen day star, then there's devils, demons, and daemons which are the souls of the damned, corrupted and perverted into monstrous creatures that do their masters bidding. A few hundreds years ago, one was turned loose in Whitechapel, England and killed five women that we know of while another six were reported missing and never found. Bloody fuck took out two of the six agents sent out to obliterate him. And it would seem like we have a similar situation on our hands. Isn't that right Erwin?"

Not breaking eye contact, the reaper heaved in a breath before releasing it with lips flattened into a tight line. "It would appear so. I'm sorry I have to assign you to another case like the Whitechapel Ripper but you're the only agent I have who's familiar with this kind of behavior."

"It's fine. It's not like I can die easy anyway. Who's our contact this time? Naberius isn't active in this era is he?"

"No, Naberius is back in his domain. Our contact is actually someone you haven't worked with before." Smirking when he saw the slight furrowing of Levi's brows, the man straightened his back as he relaxed into his chair. "It's a grigori we haven't worked with before because they refused to provide aid to anyone outside of the demonic realm or humans seeking guidance in deviance. However, we just so happen to have an in with this one in particular."

Following Erwin's line of sight, all three of them turned to Kat who had her arms folded across her chest and both legs kicked up onto the table. It was so obvious from her expression that she was less than pleased about the situation. Jean would even go as far as to say that she looked positively murderous though he couldn't understand why. If there was a psychotic killer on the loose and she knew someone that could help pin them down then she should be willing to help as much as possible. It didn't make sense to retain valuable information and resources when lives were at stake.

"I fuckin' hate you all," she said with venom dripping from her words as she shoved away from the table, stood, and left. "Meet up in the usual place Thursday at midnight. If anyone is late, I'll leave without you."

Watching her exit the room with the door slamming hard behind her after chewing out a secretary for staring too long at her, Jean turned back to the remaining three at the table. "Okay, what the fuck is going on?"

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

...................Wednesday...................

Rapping his fingers over the hard grain of his desk, Jean struggled to keep his eyes open as he reviewed a residency form for a family of four ghouls that had recently been placed under his care. As the new warden of the fortieth district, it was the young mans job to provide protection and federal assistance to the denizens in his ward while also ensuring that they follow the code of conduct and observe the laws of the land now that they were trying to assimilate with the human population. So far, he hadn't ran into any issues and was actually getting along well with the majority of the residents in his district. Part of him wondered if it was because he was a white witch since Levi had said something about light-casting types being more approachable with less intimidating auras. Whatever it was, it was playing to Jean's advantage.

It was rewarding being able to help denizens start their lives anew while also learning about each individual race. Perhaps it was his natural curiosity that made him want to know more about the creatures he had once only known to live in between the pages of a book. Or maybe it was the fact that he identified more with the myths than he did with regular humans since he himself--as it turned out--wasn't really a normal human to begin with. Yet as rewarding as the field work was, boredom set in like a heavy fog as he sat there reading application after application atop forms and case files for at-risk denizens.

How Marco and Levi pushed on through the monotony of the daily grind was beyond him. Jean could barely keep his wayward mind on track for more than fives minutes before it started wandering. 'Maybe this is why Kat switched to being a field operative,' the blonde mused as he thumbed a page over to continue reading the lengthy application. Eventually, after about an hour or so, he made it through the entire document; signing it with a sigh followed by a well-earned stretch of his tired limbs. As his eyes closed, the blonde's senses lit up when the door opened then closed. He didn't need to be looking to know that it was Marco who had entered the space. Not only could he smell the brunette's natural scent of deep cedar and citrus in the air, but he could feel the idle electricity come alive.

In sync with one another on a level that surpassed the mental and physical, it were as if the energy within them changed charges so that they matched. Operating on the same wavelength with the same frequency, their bodies reacted to each other's presence even when there was distance between them. Jean could feel it in his bones--the threads that connected them as they played with the nerves along his spine. Could sense it in the air and feel it with every breath. Intertwined so thoroughly like this, he didn't need to say a word as the brunette rounded the desk, wrapped his arms around Jean's toned waist, and began to trail petal soft kisses down his neck. 

Humming happily into the embrace, the blonde draped his arms over Marco's while simultaneously leaning back into his lovers firm body. It didn't matter how many times their skin touched, how many kisses they shared, or how often they whispered sweet nothings to each other. Jean's heart would race with every word murmured against the pale column of his throat. He'd still get weak in the knees every time Marco brought their lips together like he did in that moment--hand framing his lover's face as he closed the distance between them and kissed the blonde with heartbreaking tenderness. Tongues teasing and mingling together, Jean reached up to tangle a hand in that luscious crown of silken chestnut hair. A moment later he turned around so that he could hold Marco close; press their forms together until there wasn't a lick of air between them. Perfect. It was so perfect and felt so right embracing each other like this.

"I thought I'd come by to check on you," Marco murmured between the wet kisses. "It's about time to head home love."

Bubbling on the inside when he heard the little pet name, Jean nuzzled into the crook of the brunette's neck. "I just finished with the Alistair case file so me can head out once I put everything away."

"Well then let's hurry and clean up," the brunette smirked as he massaged the sensitive flesh of Jean's hips with fingers teasing at the dimples on his back hidden beneath the blondes shirt. "I'm tired of playing it cool and waiting to hold you."

"You're holding me right now aren't you?"

"Little punk."

"Yeah and who's in love with this punk?"

"Me," Marco beamed proudly with a hint of playfulness in his dark chocolate gaze. "Hey, I know we usually spend the night at your place but," pausing for only a moment as the butterflies in his stomach settled, he pressed on, "would you like to spend the night at my place? We don't have work tomorrow because we're heading out for our field case and my house is closer to the rendezvous point."

Jean was at loss for words. This was the first time Marco had invited him to his home since they had started dating. "I'd love to," he smiled softly before placing a kiss on the brunette's pillowy lips. "I'll have to swing by my place to pick up a change of clothes. That alright?"

"Sure."

"Than I guess I'll be spending the night."

"Looks like it." With one more quick kiss to the blonde's cheek, they parted. "Come on," Marco smirked. "Let's clean up and get out of here."

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

The drive back to Jean's home didn't take long nor did his trip inside. Like he said, the blonde only grabbed a change of clothes, his sleeping shirt and sweats, and his toothbrush. Opening the nightstand dresser to grab his heart medication, his hand froze when his eyes landed on the new unopened pack of condoms he had bought. They had only been going out for a little but Jean and Marco had been mentally eye-fucking each other for months so he had thought it wise to be prepared in the off-chance that their lust overrode their reason. However, Jean doubted anything would happen that night since they had a case the next day and he had to practice his combat form so that he wouldn't kill himself this time.

Grabbing his medication and leaving the condoms untouched, Jean left the room and headed downstairs. Wishing Armin a goodnight as the other blonde lounged on the couch with Mikasa while Ghost Hunters International played onscreen, he groaned as Eren rounded the corner of the dining room. Their conversation didn't last long; comprised mainly of yes or no questions. But still, Jean couldn't help but feel the slightest bit annoyed how Eren lectured him about safe sex and being responsible as if they were parent and child. They were both responsible adults and if he wanted to have sex with Marco, that was his business, not his friends. Yet there he stood, grunting and nodding along because he’d rather listen to Eren's speech than hurt his feelings because he knew that it was all out of love.

Eventually breaking free of Eren's momming, Jean exited the house and made his way down the garden path; slowing when his eyes landed on Marco waiting in the car with his seat reclined back and Barron sitting on his chest. Gentle hand stroking the smooth short hair of the black cats back, he was saying something to the animal that was funny or fond enough to put a smile on his lips. It was such a tender moment, one Jean knew well since he often woke up with Sibylla nuzzling next to him either in her fox form or, more so now, her human form. Speaking of the little hairball, the blonde snorted a laugh when his cunning familiar poked her head between the two front seats and bonked Barron's head causing him to spring back as if he'd been sprayed with water. Rolling his eyes, Jean quickly returned to the car to discipline his rascal.

"Sib," Jean said in a firm tone as he slide into the passengers seat. "What have I said about teasing Barron?"

Morphing into her human form, she folded her arms and pouted with wisps of auburn hair falling into her face from the ballerina bun it was pulled back into. "You told me not to."

"And what were you just doing?"

The familiar didn't say a word. Instead her bottom lip stuck out more and and the furrowing of her brows deepened as she sulked.

"Sibylla," the blonde pressed with his gaze fixed on her in the rear view.

"I was bored and I wanted to play."

"Barron doesn't like it when you mess with his head. He's told you that."

"Yeah but--"

"But nothing. Apologize to him."

Glaring at him through the mirror with grief stricken eyes, Sibylla sighed heavily then muttered, "Sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

Cheeks flushing and folded arms tightening, her pout increased. "Sorry for teasing you Barron." Looking off to the side, she grumbled, "Maybe if he could turn into a person he'd be able play with me instead of complaining about it."

"Sibylla," Jean snapped.

"It's fine hun," Marco chuckled as he sat up while setting his familiar down on the dash. "You know Sibyl, it's harder than you think for other familiars to morph the way you do. Barron's tried plenty of times to take on a human form but could never keep up his energy levels. If you can figure out a way to change without using all his vital energy, I'm sure he'd love to learn."

Frown softening into a curious pucker as her brows shot up, she looked up from the fuzzy curl of her pink turtleneck sweater. "Really? You mean that?" Sibylla asked as she glanced to the black cat then Marco.

"I'm positive," the brunette smirked while starting the car back up.

"So all I gotta do is help him morph without using too much energy and then he'll be fine playing with me?"

"Yup. He just told me that."

Looking at Barron, the girl smiled brightly. "I'll teach ya' when we get to the house 'kay. It'll be fun. I promise."

Following the brief five minute drive back to Marco's home, Sibylla stayed true to her word and practically raced through the front door with a terrified looking Barron dangling in her arms. Jean wondered if this was really what the older familiar wanted but he didn't seem to be fighting her. It was likely her enthusiasm that was so jarring since most familiar's operated independently and didn't like being part of a larger community. Even those in Jean's coven needed space from time to time so that they didn't get into fights or worse. However, Sibylla was different from the rest. It wasn't just because she could morph into a human. Her personality was not the average nor was her devotion to Jean or her urge to make friends with other familiars. She was special; cut from a different clothe that made her even more dear to her master.

Smiling humorously as she disappeared around the corner heading towards the living room, Jean took a moment to look around at his new surroundings. As expected of the new Marco he had become familiar with, the brunette's home was warm and inviting with a peppering of rich tobacco and hickory smoke in the air. Resembling an English country home with white walls and dark brown wooden beams, lush leather couches and armchairs, and touches of industrialism here and there--primarily in the drop strand light fixtures and twinned brick walls in the foyer from which hung a lover's tears plant and pink night blooming star jasmine, the home was just like it's owner, stoic on the outside yet welcoming and cozy on the inside.

With a gentle smile, Jean let Marco take his jacket and hang it on the coat rack by the front door then followed him as they casually wandered deeper into the main area between the dining room and living room with the stairs just down the warmly light hall. Hands coming together without either of them thinking about it, something sparked to life inside of the blonde. Rather than feeling awkward or out of place, he felt as if he belonged; as if Marco as well as his home were welcoming him in in the hopes that he'd stay there.

As they moved through the house and wandered up the stairs, the young man still couldn't help but watch in quiet awe as Marco used his magic to turn on the lights and switch on the heating without even saying a word or raising a finger. He was so discrete when it came to how powerful he was--humbling himself while building up Jean's confidence even though he barely knew anything about light or dark casting. Dropping off the blonde's duffel in the bedroom, they headed back downstairs to start dinner. As Marco prepped the ingredients he'd need for the creamy Cajun chicken pasta Jean went into the open dining room that was connected to the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, it was a cozy space with a polished mahogany table that could seat six and a wall that had an inset bookcase with old vinyl records taking up the first two shelves and a Victrola record player on the third shelf that looked like a vintage radio set. Eyes scanning the disc that was already on the player, the blonde smirked as he turned the player on and set the needle over the record.

Marco's laughter could be heard from the dining room when "Night And Day" by Billie Holiday began to play. He had forgotten to put the disc away the other night as after finishing the paperwork he'd taken home. It was one of the brunette's favorite albums though so he wasn't about to complain. And while a year ago it would have reminded him of the songstress and all the good times that they'd shared during the years before WWII broke out, now it held a deeper connection to someone in the present. Thinking back to the day he had first met Jean, he remembered this song playing as it always seemed to when he visited the young man during his shifts at the Darwin. And with every trip, the blonde became more and more beautiful in his eyes. 

That charming boyish smile and shy blush that teased his cheeks whenever Marco said something mildly flirtatious. Those jeweled amber eyes that glowed like fireflies whenever the brunette came in and the laughter that would bubble from within him like a spring. It was all so enchanting; so bewitching just like the evening Jean was entombed by a sea of blue swallowtails as he reached up and let himself be kissed by Marco. The more he thought about it the more he was sure that he had been falling for the white witch sooner than either of them knew. But it didn't matter when or how that first spark was ignited. All that mattered to Marco now was that Jean was his to have and to hold dear and never let go of. And this was reinforced when the blonde came up behind him, wrapped both arms around his waist, and placed a kiss to his neck, shoulder, and between his shoulders before burying his face there in the fabric of Marco's shirt.

"Feeling shy?" the brunette chuckled as he brought one of Jean's hands up to his lips and kissed the smooth skin on the back of it.

"A little," Jean admitted with his face still hidden. "I take it you like Billie Holiday since you have a lot of her records."

Marco turned down the stove and shifted them to the side while turning in the embrace so that he could hold his shy lover. "Yeah, she was a pretty cool kid."

"Did you know her?"

The brunette nodded. "I did. We were really close before the second World War broke out and I was shipped off to England to help with the RAF. We met during her Harlem years when she sang at cheap jazz clubs before making it big. I was in my uniform when I came in and, without thinking twice, she winked at me and blew a kiss."

"Damn lady killer."

Marco chuckled as he rolled his eyes. "Uh huh, not really. It had been decades since I had last dated anyone so I panicked and looked away. She was too smooth for me to handle."

"Aw," Jean cooed as he reached up with both hands and framed the brunette's sweet freckled face. "You know you're really cute when you get awkward. She probably thought so too."

"Maybe. We did date for a little while before I left. But it wasn't anything serious."

"I wonder if she wrote any songs about you," the blonde pondered aloud despite it seeming like he intended for the thought to remain silent. "I'm gonna have to listen to her albums now."

"I doubt I was that special." Leaning down, Marco kissed Jean; their mouths opening to each other for a brief moment before they parted. "Did you want to eat at the table or upstairs while we watch something?"

"Could we eat upstairs and maybe watch something? I'm still a little wound up from the week."

"Sure. Dinner will be ready in about ten-ish minutes. Sound good?"

"Yeah. Can I help?"

"If you want," the brunette smiled, the expression brightening when his partner moved past him to wash his hands before handling the food. "Alright, you take care of making the salad and I'll keep track of the pasta."

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Hidden by the evening dim--lit solely by the pipe tobacco and suede scented candle on dresser--Levi lied awake in bed next to his slumbering lover. Despite the beautiful evening they had shared, the homemade dinner Eren had prepared for him, and the numerous times they had become entangled in one another--bodies crying out in bliss as they melted together in rapture--a darkness still lingered in the back of his mind. He'd never tell his young lover but for the first time in a long time, Levi was afraid. Could feel his heart beating out of his chest from fear as he fought to keep it under control.

There were very few ways to kill people like him and Marco and with time the possibilities shrank to virtually zero. However, it was still feasible whenever a case such as this arose. The first way was the easiest because all they had to do was piss off a divine or sullied being enough that they would lash out in anger and kill them. Yet, the centuries had proved that neither heaven or hell wanted anything to do with him. That or he was being kept alive for a reason; one which he did not know. The second was trickier for Levi than it was for his cursed colleagues since he'd been alive longer than they and had no clue what it was that actually killed him. 

Unsure if it was the blaze he'd been caught in three-hundred some odd years ago that did him in or the gunshot from his traitorous cousin that left him incapacitated, he had pondered this many times before decades before he had met Eren. He didn't know how it worked per say but to revert back, he had to be mortally injured by the same object that had dealt the killing blow at the end of his human life. Because of this, Levi was virtually indestructible. It wasn't that he had forgotten that there was another way to end his existence. The first option had merely slipped to the wayside--out of mind and out of sight--since Eren had appeared. He'd been so busy enjoying life, loving, adoring and worshiping his fiery lover that he hadn't thought about divine intervention until that moment.

In the two and a half years they'd been together, Levi had not once contemplated ending his life. The dark thoughts and hazy memories from centuries past eluded him; drowned out by the sunshine reflected in those pools of glittering emerald green that reminded him so greatly of the rolling hills surrounding his hometown of Dublin. Drifting somewhere in the aether, they were nothing but distant shadows of who he had once been. Levi had been made anew; reborn a better man because of this beautiful brat slumbering next to him. He'd been given a purpose--a meaning to his existence and it was to love and protect this person, this strange wonderful human that loved him even when he didn't have the strength to love himself.

Eren was Levi's reason for living so to be confronted with the possibility of dying at the hands of a vicious daemon was enough to keep sleep at an arms length. He didn't want to let go of his partner just yet. Wasn't ready to say goodbye and never return. But fate was a cruel vengeful mistress that did as she pleased. Fate had brought the brunette into his world and given him this happiness but it could also take it from him as quickly as snuffing a candle out in the midnight gloom. It was maddening being this helpless; having no control or say over what happened to him as he waited for the cloaked path ahead of them to be revealed. It was infuriating that he had no choice but to accept this mission and hunt down a killer more ruthless than the Whitechapel Ripper. It was unfair--so so unfair--that this had to happen now not eighty years down the line when Eren was old and on his deathbed. 'Marco's probably thinking the same thing,' Levi reminded himself in the hopes of curbing his selfishness.

Turning onto his side, he propped himself up on one elbow and let his eyes wander over that magnificent form laid out beside him. Beautiful. Eren was so beautiful; more so than any divine creation he had ever seen. Tall and willowy with lean muscle wrapped over his arms, legs, and torso, the young man was finer than Adonis with a face of sheer perfection. That long elegant back that was bared to him that rose at his shoulders, dipped at his waist, and rose again as it curved up--his backside just barely hidden beneath the sheets. That smooth unblemished bronze skin that held within it the warmth of a thousand summers. Those soft round lips from which escaped quiet sighs and little snores. Levi loved it all so much; loved this person more than he thought was possible and would rather suffer hell's fury than let him go.

Unable to restrain himself, Levi leaned over and placed a petal soft kiss to the warm skin at the nape of the brats neck. Following the slender line of Eren's spine, he kissed and savored the faint taste of sweat that mingled with the brunette's natural sweetness. It would never be enough. No amount of time would satisfy him when all Levi wanted was to melt into Eren's heart and live there forever. With tears stinging at his eyes the more he thought about losing this perfect man, he paused at the spot just above the twin dimples at the base of his lover's spine. Kissing it with trembling lips, Levi rested his head there for a moment--committing the immense body heat he felt to memory as well as the smoothness of his skin. As his pained silver eyes fluttered shut with a sigh, Eren shifted in place; a groan escaping him as he was roused from his deep sleep.

"Levi?" the young man rasped while he brought a hand to his tired eyes to rub away the haze. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"It's nothing," he lied and obviously too since he made no attempt to mask the hoarseness in his tone. "Just a bad dream."

"You've never cried from a bad dream Levi. Please," he pleaded gently as he rolled over to collect his trembling partner in his arms. "What happened?"

"I just don't want to lose you. I'm not ready to let go of you Eren."

"What are you talking about? I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. It's just us baby," he cooed against Levi's ear as they rolled up together; Eren cradling him as the tears crashed over his frightened lover. "There's nothing to be afraid of. It's safe here. You're safe with me."

Burying his face in the comforting warmth of Eren's neck, Levi squeezed his eyes shut with a trembling breath. "We're hunting a daemon." Feeling the brunette's grip tighten and his back go rigid as if an alarm had been sounded, he continued. "We don't know how but it escaped from hell and has been on a killing spree for the past month. It's evaded all the other teams sent out to catch it so my unit has been called in."

"Dear God," the brunette breathed almost silently.

"Eren... What if," Levi choked, "what if this is it? What if this is how I go? It'll tear us apart and I don't want to let go of you. I don't want you to go somewhere I can't follow."

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere and this isn't the end of us Levi. I promise you."

"You don't know th--"

"But I do because I'll make sure you come home," Eren vowed as he brought their lips together in a covetous kiss. Tasting the salt from Levi's tears on his tongue as their mouths opened to each other, he tangled the fingers of one hand in the man's silken ebony hair while framing his flushed face with the other. "You're mine Levi Ackerman." Another long kiss increasing in heat. "If death wants you, he'll have to fight me for you."

"Eren..."

"No one elses," the brunette spoke against Levi's kiss swollen lips as he rolled them over so that his lover was on his back. "I'd kill the angel that tries to take you from me."

Moaning with a whine as Eren trailed down his neck and chest, Levi couldn't breathe; couldn't think because he was so overwhelmed. "Never let go of me. Promise me?"

Taking Levi's hand in his, Eren kissed the top of it sweetly then pressed his lips to his partner's with just enough pressure to keep the heat going. "I promise Levi. I'll never let you go."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fire burned deep in the turbulent seas of Marco's dark brown eyes as they glowed violet at the center. He had been stirred from his sleep earlier that morning and couldn't fall back no matter what he did so he decided to brush up on his form. The last case he had taken would've have been the end of him if Aude had been a divine or sullied. But more importantly, it had almost been the end of Jean--something that still gave him nightmares. So to make certain that that never happened again, the brunette had been practicing his hand-to-hand combat while burning his magic at near peak energy levels. Never again would he hold Jean in his arms like that. Never again would he watch the light leave his eyes the way it had that day. This time he was going to be ready. This time, he was going to be the one protecting his lover.

Dodging a swing from his clone--a solid pitch black shadow form with the agility of running ink--he bent over backwards, falling onto his back to evade a high kick, then pushed himself up; his foot making contact with the figments jaw. Dispersing, it reappeared behind him, giving the brunette little time to react to the fist coming at him. Buckling over as the punch slammed into his gut, Marco grit his teeth as he grabbed onto its arm and neck then brought his knee up for a hard hit to the face that would have had any human bleeding.

Growling as the clone clawed at his forearms, Marco released it and took a step back. Heaving in deep breaths, he leapt to the side as the shadow did a quick roundhouse followed by an inverted kick that had him staggering back the way he had just came. Infused with all his pent up anger from the gala incident and the fear he harbored for this upcoming mission, the clone was the manifestation of his darkest thoughts. With pinhead eyes glowing bright yellow, it was dread incarnate; his dread. Anticipating his every move--mirroring him blow for blow--it was the ultimate internal conflict. Literally at war with himself, Marco fought to hold his ground as he blocked kick after hit after kick. But despite the pain, despite how draining it was, he kept at it. Kept his guard up--fists raised to his eyeline and stance tight--and mind clear with his goal insight.

There was a very real possibility that this mission could spell the end for he and Levi. There were only two known ways to kill the cursed or immortal and this job pitted them against one of those methods. Daemons may be the lowest in the demonic caste system but they were still sullied. They were still powerful enough to kill strong witches; had done so in the past during the Ripper of Whitechapel case. And as tempting as the thought may have been a year ago when he was had been absolutely miserable and wallowing in his own state of depression, Marco had something worth fighting for now; had something worth killing for.

Since Jean would be accompanying them on this mission, Marco would not only be defending himself but his partner as well. Kat and Levi were experienced Huntsmen with powers that were inconceivable to humans. He'd never be as powerful as Levi--the grand caster of his coven--because the man had an added two hundred years of experience on him. He was also naturally more adept and in tune with his surroundings and had mastered three different dark forms--necromancy, lunar casting, and soul casting. Currently the strongest witch in the US, Levi could hold his own in a fight; had taken down a devil in a mock fight just to see who'd win. Likewise, Kat was just as terrifying in her abilities but for different reasons.

Specializing in soul casting, she was a planes walker and an elemental manipulator. Could control an enemy's spirit or project her own into its body and move their body like a puppet on a string. Never without her seven and nine-tailed whips with razor sharp barbs coated in a potent neurotoxin, the petite huntsman was known throughout the netherworld as "Lady Death." Brutal and merciless, she dispatched her targets with cold indifference. Everything about her was lethal from her dagger-like nails to a unique ability she called the "Judas Kiss" which, like a snake, infused poison leached from her tongue ring into her saliva that killed her victim minutes later. Compact in size, she was not someone to be trifled with. She didn't need anyone's protection because she was the FBSP's ace in the hole.

Compared to his teammates, Marco felt entirely inadequate. They would tell him otherwise; that he was already strong enough and carried more weight than was necessary. But it wasn't enough. He wasn't where he wanted to be or as strong as he needed to be. Marco had to keep going--keep training--because if he didn't he wouldn't be able to protect Jean or himself. If either of them bit the dust during this mission, the devastation would be equal either way. He couldn't lose Jean and Jean couldn't live without him. So Marco had to better himself. Had to be perfect because perfection was what his team--and his partner--deserved.

"I thought I heard something moving around down here," called a familiar voice from the stairs leading down to the subterranean rec. room. Standing on the bottom step in his black joggers with the red band of his boxers peeking over the top and his favorite cream henley with the hole worn into the back of the neck was Jean in all his disheveled glory. "What are you do--What the fuck is that?!"

Spinning around to face the blonde, the shadow clone matched its masters movements as Marco turned and smiled. "It's just my projected shadow," the brunette said easily as if it were nothing. "I couldn't sleep so I thought I'd get some sparring time in."

Keeping his eyes on the dark form, Jean wandered over to his lover and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek with one palm placed over the mans heart. "Bad dream?"

"Kinda."

"Why didn't you wake me? I could've helped you."

"It wasn't something that could be helped sweetness." Noticing how uncomfortable the young man was with the shadow looming over them in the far end of the room, Marco broke the spell which released the darkness back into the surroundings. "Honestly, it's alright. I just needed to clear my head a little."

"Your version of zen'ing out is fighting with your shadow?" the blonde teased as Marco's arms wrapped around his slim waist and brought him in close. "That's unexpected."

"I also blow off steam through gardening and washing dishes."

"Ha! You really know how to break the mold, don't you?"

"Mmm," Marco hummed happily as they kissed then parted so that he could rest his head atop Jean's. "Maybe. Anyway, I was wrapping up down here so we can head back upstairs. You're probably freezing right now."

"Not gonna lie, it's a little cold down here."

Chuckling, the brunette kissed his partner's temple with one arm snugly wrapped around him. "Let's go then, 'kay?"

"'Kay."

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The air in the room was still except for the occasional breeze that blew in through Marco's bedroom window and the symphony of crickets chirping in the night garden outside with all its flowers in full bloom. Shadows played across the walls; creeping up the vaulted ceiling like hands reaching for heaven whenever a car drove down the street and the whirring of the space heater sounded every so often as it powered through the pre-dawn hours to keep the room warm. It was tranquil; soothing in a sense that Jean couldn't quite place his finger on as he watched Marco sleep. Or, more like, try to sleep.

It had been a few hours since they'd gone back to bed and the blonde had begun to drift when a small barely-there whimper sounded from the other side of the queen-size bed. Rolling onto his side, a faint frown tugged at his features when he spotted the tall-tale signs of a nightmare brewing within the slumbering brunette. As much as he wanted to help--to console and comfort his lover--Jean resisted since he'd been warned ahead of time by the man himself that things sometimes took a turn for the worst. It was torture to watch him relive painful memories like that. To listen to him mumbling commands to his fallen comrades in his sleep only to wake up the next morning to find that they were all long gone.

But Marco had told him not to interfere; to sit aside and let it happen rather than risking his own safety. Jean had spoken to Ymir about the issue a week ago over lunch while he was still in late recovery from the previous mission. He had asked her why her brother was so adamant about it. The look on her face would have been enough. Setting down her cup of tea, the grand-caster told him that, of the two of them, Marco had seen greater horrors than she ever had. That because he was an able-bodied male he had been in every war since the Civil War and had survived one hell after another and, because of it, was left with fractured memories and broken dreams. 

Watching in that moment as the brunette's erratic breathing leveled and a shiver rolled over his skin ending with a slight tremble of his full lips, Jean only had to wait a moment longer; wait patiently for something he loved more and more every day. Lashes fluttering with a faint whisper soft intake of air, pools of earthen brown met glittering suns of molten amber painted cool by the dim of the waning moon. Gazing into each other for a long moment, not a word was spoken. Just the sound of an owl hooting in the forest and the quiet pattering of the rain as it began to fall. The silence wrapped around them like a voiceless spell being cast, enchanting and entrancing them as they drank each other in.

"Did I wake you?" Marco asked; his voice gentle with a hand reaching across the small distance between them to smooth over the blondes jawline.

Jean shook his head with a faint smile. "No. I couldn't fall asleep."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

A long pause broke between them as the young man considered his next move. He didn't know if he should ask about it--about what he'd been dreaming about--or if he should stay quiet and be grateful it hadn't lasted as long as the other nightmares. Sensing his internal conflict, Marco's hand wandered down to his waist to pull him in close; tucking Jean right against his chest with his head crowned with flaxen hair beneath his lovers chin.

"I'll tell you about it someday," he whispered quietly with a kiss to his partners forehead. "I promise. But lets forget about it for tonight. Right now it's just us."

Nodding without another word except for the whispered I Love You's they exchanged every night before bed like a prayer, Jean quickly fell asleep in Marco's arms listening to the steady beating of his heart.


	12. St. Jude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the love, the laughter, I flew up to your arms...
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ABOUT THE TITLE!: Saint Jude or "St. Jude" is one of the twelve apostles and is the patron saint of lost causes, desperate situations, hopeless cases, and hospitals.

It was a lively scene playing out around the campfire as the men of the 101st battalion drank, ate, told stories of home, and sang along intermittently to "The Wild Rover" as Jack played the banjo, Ciaran sang, and Jamie played the flute.The cold that lingered from the squall earlier that afternoon had grown with the setting of the sun. Now ten past eleven o'clock, the soldiers were sinking into the few comforts the Union army had provided them. Eating a hot hearty stew of rabbit, potatoes, carrots, and mushrooms with a cut of crisp bread, Levi chuckled under his breath as Shannon fell off the log he'd been sitting on after having one too many drinks. 

They had been on a steady march up to the Pittsburg Landing to provide reinforcements to General Grant and his men. It had been three days of trekking though muck, mud, rain, and hard winds blowing the lot of them sideways as they cut through the valleys and forests comprising Western Tennessee. Three days of exhaustion and short breaks to sleep before heading out again. Three days of walking in silence since they all knew what was waiting for them in Shiloh. They had all heard the stories of the Confederate's coming out of Tennessee. It was why the only sound apart from their feet crunching the earth beneath them as they marched south that morning from the mountain outpost was the old hymnal "Great High Mountain."

Joining them in song around the campfire, Levi and his squad had already made their peace with what was coming for them. Olou had written back home to his wife Abigail--passing to her and their three children all his love and affection. His oldest, Jeremiah, was going to be seven next month and little Matthew had just lost his first tooth. Sitting beside the gentleman soldier was Eld who was studying the pocket-sized portrait of his dearly betrothed, Miss Elizabeth of the affluent Llewellyn family from Massachusetts. They had met last fall during a ball to raise support for the troops. While he may have been the son of a cobbler and school teacher, he was also part of Grant's celebrated Harper Brigade which skyrocketed him to fame along with all of its members. Thanks to this, he had met the love of his life and had enough money to put away to start a comfortable life together if he made it back.

Moblit had done the same; writing back to his mother and father with his last will while keeping his wife close by yet at an arm's length from harm. It didn't do much considering the woman was crazy as the summer days were long. Levi had known Hanji since he'd come to the states some ten years ago and she had instantly taken a liking to him. Enlisting together, the three friends climbed the ranks together--always sticking together because it was better to kick the bucket while surrounded by good company than it was to enter that great unknown alone. Those crazy humans hadn't even batted a lash when they found out he was a witch. They just quietly and kindly accepted him and went on with their lives.

"You know there's talk that ol' Burnside's got some fighters like us down near North Carolina," Hanji said low enough that only Levi could hear her over the sound of the music and chatter. Sitting beside her was Moblit who would occasionally look away to see if anyone was listening.

"What do you mean by 'like us?'" the captain muttered with his gaze drawn to the fire but his mind tethered to the cryptic words.

Leaning in closer, she licked her lips in hesitation then whispered, "Witches."

Eyebrow twitching up though only minutely, he didn't move. "Last I checked, you aren't a witch."

"Fine. People like you but that's not what's important. What's--"

"It's not important at all," he interjected, effectively cutting her off before anymore could be said. Glancing to the right then left, he added, "Look, there's a reason why my kind aren't found too often. We're monsters in the eyes of humans. Better yet, weapons for slaughter now that your government has caught on to our existence. If there's others like me, chances are they ain't long for this world." Looking down at his food with a subtle frown, he scooped up some stew with his spoon. "Hope they got better luck than 'alf the blokes in the eastern theater. They're gonna need every bit they can get."

As Levi ate, he couldn't help but notice the itching sensation of eyes lingering for too long on him. Pausing, he peeked at Hanji who was smiling softly at him.

"What?"

Her smile remained. "Nothing. It's just been a while since you've spoken with an accent."

"Well not many people are fond of the Irish Hanji."

"I know but still. It's nice to hear once in a while because it means you're relaxing to some extent."

Levi shrugged. "Don't think too much 'bout it, will ya'. Now, just shut yer gob and eat. We're back to marchin' once the sun hits that horizon."

"Yes sir."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jean knew it was a bad idea doing what he was doing the moment his fingers touched the rough fabric of the centuries old uniform. Stained around the frayed cuffs and hems of the pant legs with dirt that wouldn't come out, remnants of blood splatter and gun powder flecked the deep wool of the double breasted captains jacket Marco had worn so many lifetimes ago. Caught in a trance, the blonde's gaze followed the trail his hands created as they travelled from the shoulders to the waist. He had seen the man in his uniform before; had revisited that picture in his textbook more than a handful of times since learning of Marco's curse. Yet even still, it didn't seem real. Not until that moment it hadn't.

The night before, he and Marco had fallen asleep in each others arms and had woken up in the same fashion they always did--teary eyed yet eager to kiss one another good morning. They had made breakfast together with Jean poaching the eggs and cooking the bacon while Marco made English muffins from scratch and cut up fresh fruit. Drinking their coffee together--the blonde treating his partner to a custom latte at home--they sat on the cushion of the bay window and watched the snow silently fall outside, blanketing the street in another layer of fluffy frost. Every moment leading up to the brunette's departure had been spent wrapped closely around one another telling stories of their childhood that were so bright and glimmering, it seemed as if the memories belonged to strangers rather than them. But when noon came, Marco had to leave to meet with Kat and Levi to discuss something in private. 

Jean didn't ask any questions; knew better than to pry when it came to matters of his lover's coven. Reluctantly, he let the man go; kissed him sweetly on the cheek before sending him off with a wave. What happened between then and now the blonde did not know. But what he did know was that now, in his uncertain hands, was a piece of Marco's past--a part of his soul, all battered and bloodied from years of neglect and abuse on the battlefield. Removing the garment from the depths of the walk in closet where it had been left to die, Jean laid the uniform down on the bed he had just made. Staring at it in the light of day, he felt as though he were gazing upon the skeletal remains of a soldier long since passed. It wasn't the only military dress the brunette had stored away in there. Uniforms from the first and second World Wars along with his camo greens from the Vietnam war were hidden in the closet as well. But this one...this was where it all started. This was when Marco went from mortal to immortal. From just a man to something otherworldly.

Eyes tracing the edges, he saw pieces of the Marco he knew now come to life in the garment. The corner of the left sleeve where the thumb would sit had a small hole gnawed into it; that being a bad yet endearing nervous habit the brunette clearly hadn't grown out of. The once stiff straight collar had dogeared at the corners, likely from Marco fidgeting with it the same way he did with his suits nowadays. No longer in control of himself, Jean laid down next to the uniform. There, beside him with soot and dirt flecked across his tan skin, was the ghost of the man he never knew. They looked exactly the same yet entirely different. There was a different kind of fire burning in those youthful earthen eyes that seemed eons younger than the ones he was familiar with now. Less world weary yet no more naive than he was now, this Marco was bright and alive with a kind of boldness he'd only seen in fleeting doses.

So real and palpable, the blonde reached out to touch the face of this bewitching fantasy. Shivers ran across his skin as his fingers fell through the cheek of the ghost while a quiet gasp escaped past his lips. What horrors had this Marco seen? What pain had he endured? Had he ever truly healed from the hell he had lived through or was he still carrying those burdens on his aching shoulders? Throat tightening at the thought, Jean curled up against the uniform with his eyes cast downward. Taking a deep breath, his eyes closed entirely as he let go of a shuttering exhale. This all started because he was curious. About what exactly, he wasn't sure. It were as if his subconscious had ferried him to the back of the closet where the uniforms hung, waiting for him the same way bodies waited for a mortician.

Face nestled against the rough fabric on the right side, Jean could have sworn he heard the ghost breathe. Could have sworn he heard its heart beat and felt its chest rise and fall with the breath. Could've sworn he heard a whimper escape those beautiful lips that now looked chapped and bruised in Jean's reverie. Watching in silent alarm as the ghosts face crumpled in pain, the blonde sat up with a sharp gasp. Reacting as if it were his Marco--the real one--writhing in agony beneath him, he placed a hand on the coat, heart nearly stopping when he felt a heartbeat below his palm.

"J-Jean...?" the ghost sputtered in a tone peppered with a heavy southern accent that felt foreign to Jean but sounded so natural coming from the mans lips.

Not knowing what else to do, lifted the coat and held it close as if it would soothe Marco's ghost. Clutching it tightly against his chest, he could hear the phantom breathing next to his ear; his labored breaths being something similar to the last gasps of a dying man. Then, as if the wound had been made fresh, Jean could feel hot blood run over his hands. Trembling as he opened his eyes and looked down, the blonde saw a large gash in the fabric stained from oxidized blood. Located off-center just below the left ribcage was the hole left from a confederate soldiers bayonet. This was the killing blow that had taken Marco's life.

"What are you doing?" came a familiar voice as clear as day.

Looking to the door, Jean could only stare at Marco--his Marco--for a long moment as his thoughts came together. He could see the confusion in the brunette's eyes as well as the pain seeing his old uniform brought him. He could see how uncomfortable the relic made him; as if he were Dorian Gray standing in the same room as his veiled aging portrait.

"I don't know," Jean answered back honestly. It was the truth. He had no clue how things had progressed to that point. "I was making the bed and the closet was left open so I...I think I was going to do the laundry. But then I saw your old uniforms." Releasing the old Union coat from his clutches, he laid it down on the bed though kept one hand planted on the spot where he had felt the pulse. "I was just drawn to it. I don't know why but..."

His words fell silent and eyes cautious as they observed Marco who--without any emotion betraying his calm expression--approached the edge of the bed, set his messenger bag down, and waited. For what, Jean didn't know; least not until he outstretched his hand and brushed the faded wool coat with the tips of his fingers. Gaze dreamy and lost, he stood there caught in the surf of his memories. He hadn't touched the garment in over thirty years. Had locked it away like a monster in its cage; fearful of what would happen to him if let the beast out. That fear had now been realized as he lingered, watching as the love of his life apologized for finding the skeletons he had hidden in his closet.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Have you told him yet?" Levi asked as he sipped at his pint of Guinness; his silver eyes focused uncaringly on the pictures that adorned the Darwin's Wall of Fame.

Beside him, Marco sat with one hand tangled in his crown of untamed hair while the other slowly turned his mug of Sapporo. "No." He took a sip from the glass; ignoring the piercing gaze of both Levi and Hanji.

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because you don't think he can handle it?" Hanji inquired. She was supposed to be cleaning the glasses and getting the shop ready for the mid-afternoon rush but had gotten caught up in conversation. "He's a tough kid. I think he can take it."

"Not him, me. I don't think I can handle it right now." The two remained quiet as he collected his thoughts. Thoughts that flew through his head at impressive speeds, evading his grasp at every turn. "I don't..." Another pause. Marco licked his lips, bit his cheek, then sighed as he dropped his head and rubbed the nape of his neck. "This is so fucked up. We just found each other, for God's sake." Looking up at the gilded wooden panels of the ceiling, he sucked in a deep breath as his cheeks flushed and tears teased at the corners of his eyes. "Just a little bit of peace, that's all I've ever wanted. To be with someone and not have to worry about one of us dying before the other or getting sick or being sent off to fight in some idiots war. I just...I just want to be with him," he choked with quivering lips. "Why is that such a selfish request?

"Telling him doesn't mean you can't be together," Hanji said, doing her best to console her friend.

"But neither of us will be able to think of anything else until this mission is over."

"I told Eren after the second month we were together," Levi murmured, almost to himself, from where he sat staring into his drink. "It was the same as you and Jean. Neither of us were expecting to get as close to each other as we did in that short amount of time but it happened regardless because I just knew it had to be him. So, one night, I just bit the bullet and told him everything. What I was, who I was, and that I could die. It wasn't pleasant, I'll give you that," he chuckled pitifully with a small smirk. Lifting his head, he turned to look at Marco. "You have to tell him Marco. Not just so that he can reconcile this with 'imself and be prepared for what's to come, but so that you can finally lay all of this to rest. People who are fucked up like us need people like Jean and Eren to help us with the messes we create in our own 'eads. That's jus' the nature of it all."

Nodding, Marco chuckled as he looked back into his mug of ale. "It's been a while since I heard that accent."

"Ey, stop running your mouth like Hanji."

The woman smirked as she dried the glass in her hands and slid it into the rack above the bar. "See, I told you it's been coming out more often."

"Yeah, an' it only happens when I'm stressed."

"Eren told me he loves it when you talk in accent."

"Fuckin' git, why're you discussing my private life with my fella behind my back?!" Levi snapped with brows furrowed as he flicked droplets of beer at her. "Knock it off will ya'. Look, Marco," he said steering the conversation back to the topic at hand. "You ain't gonna feel any better bottling this up an' neither is he. Chances are the brat has already caught on by now and knows somethin's wrong. I mean, it's not like you've been acting composed since we were handed this mission. Just go home an' talk to 'im. If Jean's your true fella, then trust him with yourself. You'll be happy ya' did. Understand?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Trust Jean with himself. Marco thought he had already done that but it was clear he hadn't with this final hurtle separating them by oceans upon oceans. He had worked so hard on mending the wounds inflicted on him by past memories and forgetting them so they couldn't hurt him anymore that he had forgotten that that was not how the human heart worked. Had forgotten just how human and afraid and fragile he actually was. Room shifting in colors as the sun broke through the storm clouds outside and painted the walls and bed a glittering shade of gold, the brunette stared at his partner--fear robbing him of his words once more. Where was the courage he had had all those years ago when he had put that uniform on for the first time? All that fire and determination, boldness and tenacity... Where had it gone in these last one hundred and fifty some odd years?

"There's something I have to tell you," Marco spoke, his mouth moving all on its own as the heart overrode logic. "You aren't going to like it," he looked up at Jean whose attention he had in full now, "but you need to know..." Another pause--his gaze swimming with trepidation while his lover's was filled with worry. "Because it's important that you do. That you know this about me because it could change how we are."

Instead of speaking, Jean flattened his lips into a line and nodded. Shuffling to the side, he moved the uniform onto his lap so that Marco could sit down.

Settling into his place on the fluffed duvet and blankets next to the blonde, Marco gently tugged on the sleeve of his uniform until Jean released it. Pulling it again, he brought it to rest on his leg; eyes fixed on the tear in the back. He still remembered how it felt, being stabbed through the lung with the slightly dulled bayonet and how, contrary to popular belief, he couldn't scream out in pain. Licking his lips, he could still taste blood in his spit and feel his throat tightening as if he were dying all over again.

"There's really, honestly, no easy way to say this." Silence again as he regathered his thoughts. "I never really thought this would be an issue because the last time a daemon got loose was four hundred years ago and no one's really dug up the shores of Fredericksburg and I had given up on trying to end myself when you came into the picture..."

"Marco...?" Jean breathed with a mild look of horror dancing across his face when he heard the last part of his sentence.

"I've lived with the pain of four wars, the loss of my family and friends, and the hatred of modern society for close to two hundred years. Before you, there wasn't much for me to live for Jean which is why telling you this is very hard for me." Taking a quiet breath in, he looked up at the blonde. "I didn't want you to worry about me because I wanted you to focus on keeping yourself safe."

Again, Jean didn't speak. Instead he wove the fingers of Marco's free hand together with his.

"There's two ways to kill someone like me," Marco said, the words tasting of venom, tar, and rust as the fell from his lips. Jean's fingers tightened around his and he continued. "The first is tricky because you have to be killed the same way you were the first time you died. If you live through it the second time, the curse is reversed and you become mortal again. The second...well..."

Waiting for a long moment, Jean leaned in and brushed the hair out of his partner's face; his gaze not missing the anguish written within those pools of warm earthen brown. "The second?"

Looking up from where he'd hunched over, the brunette gave a weak smile. "You piss off a divine or sullied enough that they rip you to shreds." He saw as Jean's expression went from calm to confused then finally horrified as the pieces fell into place. "Daemons may be the lowest in Hell's caste system but they're still strong and they're sullied. If this mission goes wrong, Levi or I or both of us might not make it back. I don't know the exact strength of this daemon because we don't know which ring of Hell it came from but it's powerful enough to go undetected for months and strong enough to have killed two other witches before us." Eyes meeting Jean's, he lifted a trembling hand to frame his lover's beautiful face. "I didn't want to tell because this isn't fair to either of us. I just found you and I thought I'd have you longer than this--"

His thoughts were cut short when a pair of warm gentle lips covered his in a tender kiss. Bringing his other hand up and away from the uniform, Jean carded his fingers through that mane of thick wavy brown hair he loved and traced the edges of Marco's ear with his fingertips before cupping the side of his lovely speckled face as they parted for air. Appraising one another for a long moment, they came together again in something more heated that had the blonde moving to straddle the brunette; their chest pressed closely against the other and their mouths moving together in harmonious bliss.

With Marco's face in his hands, Jean parted with just enough space between them so that he could run his thumb along the bottom curve of the man's lips.

"I won't let you die Marco Bott, not yet." Another long deep kiss as their mouths opened up to one another and he sucked on the brunette's tongue. "I won't let you go. We've still got so much more ahead of us."

"I don't want you get hurt while trying to protect me," the brunette protested with labored breaths as his lover worried petal pink bruises into the hot flesh of his neck.

"I'm not delicate Marco. Not anymore, I'm not." Kissing back up to the man's lips, he took them in a covetous embrace that robbed Marco of his air. "This time, we'll protect each other. That's what partners do. If the day comes when you want grey hair, we'll talk about it. But no one's dying tonight or tomorrow or the day after that." Leaning in close enough that their noses brushed and lips touched, he whispered, "I won't let them take you from me Marco. We'll get through this together."

Gazing up into those pools of gold, he felt as if the clouds outside had been peeled back. Bit by bit, the wounds scored across his heart had started to heal. It would be a long process and he'd never truly be healed but it was a start toward recovery; toward a "normal" life he could spend with Jean at his side. Hands rubbing appreciatively at the blondes sides, he craned his head back and captured those lips once more, breathing in all that his partner was. Grabbing his past by the collar, Marco tossed the uniform onto the ground as Jean wrapped his arms around the brunette's neck and tangled their legs together.

Laughing breathlessly as they fell back onto the bed with Marco on top, they took in the moment; drank in one another and let the pain as well as the joy sink in. Their lives together would never be perfect; would never be normal by anyone's standard. But they had accepted that. Had acknowledged the fact that they weren't like everyone else but that didn't mean their love was worth less because of it. On the contrary, Jean felt it made their bond stronger because they had fought harder for happiness they shared. Had suffered enough to be blessed with this miracle.

"Thank you," Jean cooed between kisses to Marco's lips and cheeks.

The brunette smiled despite his confusion. "What for?" he asked as he pushed himself up enough to look at the man beneath him, eyes committing the sight of Jean disheveled and gorgeous while tousled in the sheets to memory. "I haven't done anything worth your thanks."

"You trusted me enough to tell me."

"And you trusted me enough to forgive me for what I'd done."

Laughing a little despite how serious Marco looked. "We all deserve a second chance now and then." Playing with the deep cinnamon waves that felt like silk to his calloused fingers, Jean relaxed into the kisses, nibbles, bites, and licks to his lips, jaw, and throat. Humming his approval as his lover's hands wandered, the blonde opened his eyes as his palms cupped either side of that beautiful freckled countenance. "Marco..."

The brunette kissed the palm cradling the left side of his face. "Hmm?"

Sitting up just enough, the blonde pressed his lips to the mans ear then whispered, "Make love to me."

"Right now?" he breathed, blood now burning and heart pounding.

Jean nodded.

"What about the mission? You'll be sore later on."

"I'll just sleep it off on the drive up to New York." Wrapping his arms around Marco's neck, he brought the man down to his level--body pressing down on his enough that they could feel the hardness of each others growing lengths. Smiling when he heard the brunette gasp softly, Jean kissed his cheek. "I've waited so long to have you. Don't make me wait another night. Please?"

"So long as you don't blame me on the ride up," Marco said with a devilishly cheeky smirk as he joined hands with Jean and brought them up to rest above the blonde's head. "I hope you've got enough energy for this."

"Bring it old man." Seconds later, Jean burst out into bubbling laughter as the brunette lunged for his neck with a playful growl.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jean's breath hitched and his legs--covered in a thin sheen of sweat--trembled as Marco's nimble fingers worked him open with frightening precision. Back arching as he hit his prostate again and again, it was maddening how slowly but steadily he was being unraveled. Those lips kissing down from his navel that curved into a knowing smile as he nipped at the inside of Jean's shaking left leg that had been draped over his broad bronzed shoulder. Licking a trail down to the blonde's length that was dripping with anticipation, he took it all in his mouth drawing a long moan from his lover that could've shaken down the walls. Noting how loud Jean was--not that he would ever complain about such a thing--Marco cast a concealment spell over the space that would keep the noise in so that the neighbors wouldn't hear.

Sucking hard as he pulled back off of the blonde's cock, Marco licked his lips in appreciation as his dark eyes drank in the sight before him. Skin flushed, body trembling with pleasure, hair damp with sweat and hands twisting in the pillows and sheets, Jean was a masterpiece. A living sculpture of ecstasy. Pressing into the young man's tight heat with a third finger, he smiled with a bite to his bottom lip as his partner reacted immediately; back bowing as another moan of his name rolled off his shivering lips. He was a complete mess; wasted and drunk off the pleasure Marco was giving him.

Cracking an eye open, Jean could have cum when he saw Marco hovering above him, body bare and coated in a veneer of sweat with small bruises along his neck and light pink trails his nails had clawed into his shoulders and arms. Freckles spanning the entire length of his body, the blondes eyes followed the trail created by his flexing muscles that dipped and relaxed with his every move until they wandered down to his endowment. Biting his lip hard, Jean could only imagine what it was going to feel like having such a thing inside him. Not only was Marco well-endowed but the length was perfect; big enough that it fill him comfortably. Gasping quietly when a hand rested under his chin and brought his gaze back up, he laughed a little when saw the look in his lover's eyes.

"You caught me," he confessed though unashamed of his actions since he reached a hand down to tease the fine hairs of the man's happy trail.

"My eyes are up here you know," Marco feigned offense. "I'm not just some piece of meat."

"Oh I know, trust me. I just couldn't help myself."

"You're eager."

Laughing with Marco, Jean squirmed as the fingers inside him splayed apart. "Marco," he whimpered in protest. "That's enough. Please, I need you so bad right now."

"You sure sweetness?"

It was ridiculous that a pet name could have him blushing when they were naked and Marco had his fingers inside him. "Yeah, I'm sure. Anymore of this and I won't last."

"'Kay, I got you."

Removing the digits, he grabbed the bottle of lube and slicked himself up. Early on when they had started this, Jean had requested that they go bare; saying that he had been tested a couple months ago, same as Marco, and that he was clean. It was a first for the brunette because he'd never had a steady partner that he could do such a thing with. There was always the fear of pregnancy with Renee and, after the eighties and the AIDS epidemic, he had decided to stop sleeping with others in general. But he loved and trusted Jean; knew he wasn't lying because he would've spotted the blonde's tells the moment the words came out of his mouth. Yet just as he lined up, the young man pushed him back and sat up. Watching in a state of humored disbelief as Jean straddled him, he let out a breathy chuckle.

"You'll be closer this way," Jean explained as he looped his arms around Marco's neck with the fingers of his right hand tangling in the brunette's hair.

Smiling as the blonde pecked his lips sweetly, he couldn't have been more in love with the young man. "Okay," he breathed as he gazed up into those pools of enchanting liquid gold. Hands smoothing up the flawless skin of Jean's back, Marco kissed his neck. "You ready?"

When Jean nodded, Marco smiled and brought their lips together as he slowly pushed inside. Both moaning into the embrace, the brunette could feel his partner's grip tightening in his hair the deeper in he pushed. Gasping as the tip of Marco's cock brushed past his prostate, Jean melted into the embrace; his body stilling as he adjusted to the new pressure inside. He felt so full and complete in that moment, as if everything they had endured together boiled down to this perfect moment in time where it was just them--two hopeless lovesick fools that were no good without one another. 

Before Marco came around, Jean was heading for a small disaster because life had gotten to be too much to handle. Before Marco came into his world, he was a trainwreck of exhaustion and self-doubt. He thought himself to be crazy; had wondered why his parents hadn't had him institutionalized or medicated. But then this beautiful stranger came into the picture and turned everything on its head. Jean didn't have to hide anymore. Didn't have to fall asleep on his own or wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare alone anymore. He didn't have to keep everything bottled up and buried until it made him sick. Now he had someone to share his secrets with. Someone who would listen and take them all in without any judgement. Someone he could love and hold and call his own and it was all so wonderful that every day they spent together felt like a fantasy.

Parting just enough that he could kiss him breathless, Jean whispered, "Move."

Not needing any further instruction, Marco did as he asked and snapped his hips up pulling a groan of rapture from the blonde. It didn't take long to work them into a sweat with their forms melting into one another. Didn't take long because they had waited so long for this moment. This perfect blip in time where they belonged to each other--heart, body, and soul. All the dreams of Jeans wrapping around Marco in hysteric bliss as he cried for more. All the pining glances the brunette stole and the ones the blonde caught when his partner wasn't quick enough to look away. All the fights, the misunderstandings, the heartbreak, and finally the triumph... Everything had built up to this one thing they had wanted so badly--waited so painfully for--and it only got better as they continued.

As Marco played with the dimples at the base of Jean's spine--relishing the sounds it drew from the young man, the blonde dragged the nails of one hand up the column of his lover's freckled spine while the other knotted in his hair; the slight sting being something that revved Marco up like nothing else. Smiling as the brunette found his sweet spot again, Jean rolled his head back with eyes closed and skin glistening in the late afternoon light that poured in through the window. Painted gold by the honeyed rays of setting sun, he was a dreamlike figure Marco couldn't tear his eyes away from. Could have sworn he saw a halo above his flaxen hair. Amber eyes opening to catch his lover once more staring holes into him as if he were some misty vision, Jean leaned forward for a deep embrace that they panted into--tongues fighting for dominance with Jean winning as he roughly carded his fingers through Marco's hair.

"Marco," he breathed against those perfect delicious lips, swollen from his love bites. "I-I'm close."

"Me too sweetness," Marco growled then groaned as he rolled his hips hard and long with his head tucked into the crook of Jean's neck. "Fuck," he breathed. "You're so hot and tight."

"You feel good baby?" Chuckling when the brunette nodded though not lifting his head when he did, Jean couldn't help but find it so endearing. Kissing his cheek next to his freckled ear, the blonde panted, "Keep going Marco. I'm gonna cum."

"Me too. Cum with me."

"Only if you kiss me when you do."

It were as if his words were laced with some strange magic because moments later, Marco brought Jean in for a heated kiss as he hit his peak and tumbled over the edge into orgasm. Cumming hard right after the brunette, Jean moaned into the embrace and tightened his grip on his partner while the hand stroking his length continued until he finished. Sapped of any and all energy, the blonde collapsed into the warm comforting arms of his lover; lazily tracing patterns into his hot skin while nuzzling sweetly into his neck, loving the smell of his sweat as it mingled with the natural musk that always seemed to cling to the sun-kissed flesh. Whimpering only minutely as Marco pulled out, he sighed appreciatively as they fell back onto the bed. Eyes closing as he drifted in and out of consciousness, Jean listened to the steadying drumming of the man's heart, loving it more and more with every passing moment.

"You fallin' asleep?" Marco teased, his voice gravelly and peppered with a hint of his long-lost Virginian twang.

Jean nodded with both eyes closed. "You're comfortable." He smiled as Marco laughed. It was his favorite sound in the whole world.

"We gotta clean up Jean."

"Not yet. Please? Let's just lay here a little bit longer. At least until I get feeling back in my legs."

"Shit. I forgot 'bout that."

"Yeah I know you did," Jean teased as he peeked at Marco. Smiling back when he saw Marco smiling down at him--the brunette tracing small circles into his flushed fair skin--Jean used the little strength he had left and brought himself up enough to kiss his cheek. "Ten minutes is all I need then we can rinse off, 'kay."

"I'll give you fifteen for good measure."

"Ass."

"Yeah and you love my ass."

"Got me there." Chuckle fading into a yawn, Jean closed his eyes once more as he listened to Marco breathing. "I love you Marco."

Smiling softly, Marco kissed the top of his head; arms keeping the blonde as close as possible. "I love you more. Sleep tight sweetness and I'll see you in a bit"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope ya'll liked the little plot twist there. I'd been humoring it for a while and decided, "why the fuck not." Not to fear, this doesn't change much....or does it? Mwuahahahahaa!! You'll never know! But yeah, thanks for reading and all the kind emails I've received from ya'll. No, I'm not dead nor did I incur the wrath of a vengeful harpy. LoL. I'm still here and trying my best to get back to writing.
> 
> Je vous aime tous, mes effrayants cheries!
> 
> Your friendly martian overlord,  
> -Mars


	13. The Irishman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team heads to New York to hunt down the daemon. While they're there Levi's past catches up with him...
> 
>  
> 
> * _This chapter focuses primarily on Levi and his past as well as his position in the present._ *

"What is he doing here?" Jean snapped as he got out of Marco's car the moment it pulled into Levi's driveway. Gaze shifting from confused to irritated to murderous as the pieces fell together--his eyes not once leaving Eren's face as they stared at one another--he spun around with half a mind not to clock Levi square in the jaw. "Don't you dare bring him into this! He's fucking human! What the hell could he possib--"

"Hey!" Marco shouted as he jumped between them; almost getting kneed in the groin when Jean tried to push past him. "Babe, stop!"

"He's going to get Eren killed if he brings him along!"

Eye twitching with a snarl curling his lip, Levi lost it. "Ya' really don't think I know 'e's human and could die?! Ya' really think I'm that ignorant of me own lover's vulnerability?!"

Marco's frown only deepened and his eyes rolled just a bit more as he was now forced to keep them both separate with Jean barking from in front of him and Levi retaliating from behind. This was not how he had imagined their morning starting. Especially when the night he had spent with Jean the night before was beyond magical--it was borderline awe-inspiring like a coming-to-God moment. Yet he too couldn't help but question Eren's presence or the packed duffel bag and backpack at his feet.

"Levi, please, before he tears my arm off or sterilizes me, explain what Eren's doing here."

Glaring at Jean with a look that could kill had he wanted to, Levi calmed himself; the white ring aglow in his eyes dimming. "I got a call from bureau this mornin'," he started with venom peppering his accented tone. "They want Eren to accompany us on this mission 'cause the bastard daemon 'as been doin' a fine job of evadin' us an' we need someone who can operate off the spectrum."

"Yeah, brilliant idea expect that he's--"

"A touch-know," Eren said flatly. This argument was eating up their time and he was too tired from the fit of crying that had worked through him earlier that morning when he had locked himself in the bathroom to get a bit of privacy. He wasn't concerned for himself at all because he knew Levi would rather sacrifice himself than see Eren hurt. And that was torture especially after their exchange the previous night. "Sorry Jean," he said with a hint of regret in his voice while pulling down his left jacket sleeve when he caught Marco staring at his arm. "I'm not all that human. More than you but I'm an irregular. So is Armin and Mika. It's why we never questioned you when we were kids because we could see what you saw. Well, I sensed it."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner."

Jean watched him for a hard second with disbelieving eyes then shook his head. "No. No, that can't... How?"

"I don't know how. I got it from Grisha apparently and Carla has the ability on her father's side."

"And you didn't think to tell me when my doctors recommended that I be institutionalized for my nightmares?"

"I said I was sorry!"

"Enough!" Marco shouted; violet vines crackling to life in the center of his palms as he kept the two groups separate. Sighing as a fresh layer of snow began to fall, he looked between them. "This is neither the time nor the place to be discussing this. You guys can talk when we get to New York. Until then cool off and maybe get some sleep. Especially you Jaeger, you don't look too good and this mission isn't going to be a cakewalk." Gaze ticking over to Levi he asked, "You're driving, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Let's get going before the storm picks up."

It wasn't often that Marco took the role as leader. He prefered the passive defense position where he could both protect and fight without having to be the one responsible for making the decisions for their unit. However, Levi looked like he needed a break from his exhausting job as clan leader and squad captain. Naturally the position would have fallen on Kat's shoulders since she was the second-in-command. The only problem was that she had driven up to New York the night before for reasons undisclosed to her squadmates. So it fell to Marco to keep everything heading in the right direction and with as little conflict as possible. It was not optimal having a human tag along even if they were an irregular. If anything, his abilities as a touch-know put Eren at even greater risk because his kind were rare finds these days. But they'd have to make do for now and wait until later to question Erwin's orders.

Piling into the two separate vehicles--Eren with Levi and Jean with Marco--they set out for the long drive ahead. Turning onto the main streets, it wasn't long until they were on the highway heading north--north toward a place Levi had tried cutting ties with many times before yet kept returning to despite how it had abused him in the past. Even now he could see the light fluttering in the torch held be Lady Liberty as the boat ferrying him and the last of his kin to to America entered the bay area. That cold torrid rainy day that wasn't too dissimilar now haunted him. What should have been a new beginning--a fresh start and chance to lead as normal of a life that a witch could--turned out to be the overture to a nightmare that spiralled away too quickly like a ball of yarn being knocked from its basket to swiftly roll across the floor.

He remembered the stories he had been told of the new world; this place the people in the streets called " _America_." Levi had already been cursed by that point. Had spent nearly two hundred years on the run evading the authorities and travelling from one country to the next with the nomadic gypsies he had befriended in Poland. It was only when he was out of options and friends that would take him in that the time came for him to flee Europe and create a new life in the states. That bright light that shone down on him painting his pale gaunt face gold as he passed beneath the maiden with the winds of the passing storm licking the nape of his neck and cutting through his threaded cotton blouse and worn wool coat and slacks.

Despite the time--the centuries--that had passed, all within the fleeting bat of a lash, it still felt as if he were an immigrant coming to this country without a penny to his name and more troubles than the ship could carry. The prickling anxiety that boiled in his stomach so much that it made him sick. The fear lingering in the back of his head that he would never be entirely at piece--that he was still a wanted man. The sensation of phantom eyes following his every move as if he were an actor upon a stage with an unforgiving audience before him. It was all there welling up within him once more. He wasn't the same as he had once been. Had only ever killed out of necessity and to protect. Had only committed the sins he had because he hadn't been given a choice. Would the ghosts of the men he had killed decades before when he was working as a mercenary for hire be waiting for him? Would anyone he had known be alive? And if so, would they have recognized him in his pitiful state? No more the soldier but nor a man of means, he was a nobody. Just a face among many in an endless crowd that sought out protection and deliverance in this strange foreign land.

"Levi," Eren called from the car seat beside him.

Levi didn't answer. Just turned his head in response; his mind still flooded with his past. There must have been a ghost swimming in his gaze the moment their eyes met because Levi could see Eren's expression change. Felt it in the pounding of his heart as the mood between them shifted. Reaching across the divider the brunette took his hand; thumb smoothing circles into the soft flesh atop his knuckles. They did not need to speak when it was like this--when the atmosphere was so heavy and tense that it choked out any hope of words. All Eren needed was the reaffirming gentle squeeze of Levi's hand to know that he would be okay. Not that he was, but that eventually he'd be fine. 

Eren did not know entirely what horrors his lover had lived through. Just that he had lived long enough for it to break his spirit more than a handful of times and that he hadn't walked away completely healed. It was why he worried. Why he stayed up on the nights Levi would rise during the witching hour when his dreams were at his worst and wait for him to come back to bed; sometimes even sitting on the other side of the bathroom door singing to his silent partner until he found the strength to face the brunette. The monsters that lurked in his past were stronger--at times stronger than him and Eren feared that they would reach out and take him at any moment. It was why he did not fear for his own safety on this mission but for Levi's. Despite the deep love they shared and the bond they had entered into in secret the night before, a part of Eren would always be wary of death's seductive power over Levi.

"I'm not thinkin' 'bout it, love," Levi spoke softly, his voice only half of what it normally was though full of understanding as he guessed his lovers thoughts. "I promised the night I first kissed you that I'd stop lookin' for an end. Honest." Lifting Eren's hand to his lips, he kissed the back of it. "I'm yours 'til our last breath. Until then, I ain't goin' anywhere."

Freeing his hand of Levi's, Eren cupped the mans cheek with his palm--adoration and devotion filling his emerald gaze. "I know. Until the end?"

"And then some love."

It was the best they could hope for--a witch and an irregular. They would never have a fairytale ending. Even if Levi left the FBSP, they would never be free from the troubles that haunted him or the task of finding a way to return him back to being mortal. So they took what they could and held onto the happiness they had with all their strength because it was all they had in this life that seemed happy to pass all too quickly. Maybe in another life they could be free; could have the perfect house by the sea with kids playing in the yard as they watched from the porch. But for now, this was how they'd find joy--in the touches they exchanged, kisses shared between sweet nothings they'd whisper as their bodies came together each night. For now, this would be enough.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The first couple of nights they would be spending in New York were to be at the centuries old Plaza Hotel that, oddly enough, had and was still owned by the Irish mob. It was surreal how--before the cars had even come to a complete stop--there was a trio of bellhops, two valets, and the hotel manager waiting for them. Men wearing polished suits with white gloves opened the car doors on both sides while the caddy's in their button-downs and red vests swiftly gathered any and all luggage that was in tow. 

It seemed that they were fully aware of _who_ Levi and Marco were because no one gave it a second thought as they grabbed the duffels with the weaponry in clanking around inside. Rather they just heaved it onto the gilded luggage carts, turned around, and headed inside with the rest of the crew behind them. Yet it was as the bellhops went to leave that Jean caught the dichtnomous expression of reverence and fear on their almost stoic faces. Not only did all the workers know who the witches were but it seemed as though they had reason to tremble at the mere sight of them. Perhaps they were denizens that had done wrong in their past and now lived in a state of paranoia. But then why the look of deep-seated respect whenever someone glanced to Levi? What was he to them?

"We have your rooms ready and set to your exact specifications sir," the hotel manager said as he walked alongside Levi--never in front or exactly equal to him but remaining just a step or two behind him. "Agent Arcadia has been allotted the Fitzgerald Suite on the nineteenth floor and you, Agent Bott, and your partners will be located on the twentieth floor in the Grand and King penthouse suites." Stepping in closer when he caught Jean out of the corner of his eye listening to their conversation, the manager leaned in and murmured, "A security detail of forty soldiers and two red hands to guard the lower and upper entry points to the penthouses."

"Perfect," Levi said lowly, discreetly as his eyes surveyed the area with feigned nonchalance. "Thank you Daclan."

"Of course sir. It's a relief to see you again even though I wish it were under better circumstances."

Levi snorted a laugh as they stopped in front of the private elevator entrance--turned to face the manager just as he stepped onto the lift with a cool cunning smirk gleaming in his eyes. "When is there never trouble when I come 'round? Inform the others that I've arrived. It's time I had a lil' chat with my eyes an' ears."

The doors slid shut and seemingly all at once all manner of sound had left the space. They were enclosed in the unnerving silence of the lift as it soared up passing one floor after the next; the numbers blinking on the indicator above as they all stood waiting. Marco didn't appear to be as unsettled as Jean was feeling but he could feel it rolling off of Eren in waves--the potent sickening sea of concern shifting just below his tanned skin peppered with goosebumps. It was the same reaction Jean had when he first met the witch. As docile as he projected himself to be, there was some frightening edge left to him that always had those around him slightly on guard; something unsettling like shadows shifting in the night without any probable cause. Yet, despite the twinge of fear that would still crop up whenever Jean was in close quarters with the man, he did not worry for Eren's safety. It was the only thing that could be guaranteed.

Leaving the lift after it had stopped at the top floor and opened its gold and fine wood-paneled doors, Jean opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by a quiet shake of the head from Eren. Any secrets that they were not currently privy to would be revealed in time. Levi would undoubtedly speak with the brunette in private. Jean could tell from the posturing between them--the defensive twitch in Levi's hand and sharpness of his gaze as he casually glanced around from one corner of the foyer to the other. But whatever he had to say would be said to Eren first and only him until he deemed it appropriate to bring Jean into their circle. He didn't like it--not knowing because it put him at a disadvantage but that was how it was going to be. So patting Eren on the shoulder with a weak smile, the blonde followed Marco as they headed in the opposite direction toward their suite.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Levi stood before the window overlooking Central Park as the snow silently fell--his form outlined by the soft eerie grey glow of the setting sun shifting behind the clouds. Dressed in a white button down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and a pair of tailored black slacks made of the finest wool, he looked out of place; as if he had come from another time and another place. Eyes trained on the scenery below, he didn't move as Eren entered the room--the brunette lingering in the entrance to the finely furnished salon so that he may drink in the sight just a moment longer before he was immersed in the cruel unforgiving tides of Levi's past. 

This wasn't going to be pleasant. This wasn't going to be a joyful trip down memory lane riddled with fond recollections of his family and friends. This was instead going to hurt--both of them. But Eren was not going to back down. He needed to know and Levi understood that. And as Eren slipped up behind him with both arms wrapped around the witch's trim waist--Levi easing into the comfort of his lovers embrace as he closed both eyes and rested his head on Eren's shoulder--it was in that moment that they knew that as hurtful as this was going to be it wouldn't last. That the pain would only be temporary.

"You're past doesn't define you," Eren spoke--voice a warm whisper in Levi's ear. "Whatever you've done can't be changed. Whatever crimes you've committed, they won't change the way I look at you."

"Are you sure?" Levi asked, his words honest and frightened. "Maybe we should'ave waited to--"

"No, we made the right decision."

"Eren."

"I mean it," Eren protested more firmly as he pressed his cheek to Levi's. Tears had already begun to form; stinging the corners of his eyes as they waited to fall. "You're mine. All of you. The good, the bad, and the worst. Your past, your present and your future. I want it all. I'm yours forever."

"Forever..." Levi mused, breath faltering in his lungs as he drew in air that left with a quaking exhale.

Eren kissed his ear. "Forever," he whispered.

Eyes of starlight watching the world outside, Levi fell back into the darkest reaches of his mind revisiting memories that he had drown out many lifetimes ago. His blood ran cold and his throat closed as it all returned to him in such vibrant detail because nothing in his life had ever been straightforward. To be honest with Eren meant reliving all four-hundred years, decade by decade and it all started with his pitiful birth. Licking his lips, Levi blinked back tears. Felt his chest heave and a sigh flee with a tremble.

"I was born the bastard child of a whore," he choked. "That's what my father told me when he found me after my mother had died of consumption. I was just a child, barely five years old. I was half-starved because neither she nor I could eat much since the cost of food had doubled during the famine that winter. He was an abusive man, my father. I hated him with every fiber in me. It was why his brother was able to pin his murder on me so easily. Rotten filth the whole lot of 'em."

Eren held Levi closer and pressed his cheek more tenderly to his as he listened. Words could so easily betray him so they were not to be trusted.

"I spent the majority of my youth on the run hiding from a man I hardly knew 'cause I was a threat to the empire he was trying to build. Thought I'd try to usurp 'im when I came of age."

"Empire?"

"My old man was a business tycoon with a penchant for pretty faces in lovely dresses. From what I heard he was one of the wealthiest men in England at the time of his death. He had a wife and several children but never lost his taste for the flesh which would lead him to the red light district. But my mother wasn't a whore. She was a nurse that tended to the women working at the brothels. It was by misfortune that he met her." Pausing as the various incarnations of his conception ran through his head, Levi gritted his teeth behind tightly pressed lips. "Disgusting filth touched her as if she were an animal for purchase. She was a kind, forgiving witch that used her abilities to protect and heal those less fortunate than her. I still wish it was me who ended his miserable existence. But I promised mum I wouldn't use my magic to bring harm to any human--innocent or corrupt. And how beautifully I've made a mess out of that promise."

Again, Eren had gone silent. He understood that right now, more than any--more than reassuring words or fond kisses to the cheeks, what Levi needed was for him to be patient and listen to him as he slowly untangled the memories as they poured out like a flood breaking loose from the spillway.

"I was fourteen when my Uncle Kenny found me. He'd been searchin' for me since my mum's death. I suppose they were once close. But somewhere along the way she had stopped speakin' to her brother and he'd stopped seeking 'er out. I didn't have many options at that point. I had been caught using magic and had a bounty on my head. I needed to disappear--to become someone new. To not be myself. I wasn't thinkin' when I joined his gang. Kenny offered me protection and I was still very much mortal at that point. The price I would pay for being a witch was death. I couldn't turn him down."

Sighing, Levi broke away from Eren's comforting embrace. Weaving their hands together, he sat down on the ornate chaise lounge chair. Breathing in then out in steady measured takes Levi sniffled as the first tears fell. Eren couldn't imagine the horrors coming alive in his head. Couldn't see them as they clawed their way to the surface under which they ere buried. But he could feel it. Could sense the tension, the bitter lonesomeness and sorrow. He could feel the anger, the loss, and hopelessness brewing in the pit of his stomach as everything that had once been dead came to life for this brief moment in time.

"By the time I was in my twenties I had been named Kenny's successor. You're options to living a clean life aren't exactly high when your only kin is a drug lord in the criminal underworld. But better an underling than some pigs plaything." Again, a weak smile graced Levi's lips when Eren closed the space between them--he settling in Levi's lap with their legs tousled together and Eren's hands coming up to comb lovingly through his partners hair. "It was during the Great Fire in London that Kenny betrayed me. Shot me through the chest because he'd been told I was plottin' against him. I was still alive though when the house caught fire so I'm not entirely sure which killed me--the bullet in me lungs or the smoke I was breathin' in. Next thing I knew I was lying in a hospital bed lookin' up at Erwin. I remember the first thing I commented on were his ridiculous eyebrows," Levi chuckled.

"They are pretty ridiculous," Eren said fondly with a kiss to Levi's forehead, eyes, and cheek. It was the only thing he could do to keep himself from falling apart.

Levi ran his own fingers through Eren's hair; loving how soft and silky the strands felt against his rough fingertips. "From that point on I was in and out of the service. The FBSP hadn't formed yet; they wouldn't until after the Civil War."

"Is that when you met Marco?"

"No. We didn't team up until the end of Nam when the Cold War started and they needed spies to like him and I to cross the enemy lines," Levi smirked thought the expression didn't last long as if quickly faded from his eyes. "After the Civil War I left the states. I was trying to outrun what I believed I was becoming only to figure out I was already damaged. I couldn't even give you a number if you were to ask me how many lives I've taken. How many men both innocent and guilty have died at my feet. Every night it's always the same. They're eyes--dead and lifeless, they follow me waiting for me to cross over to the other side. When I returned to the US, it was only because I had ran out of places to go. Hanji, who I'd served with in the war, had joined up with the White Hand as a soldier as did I. We were safe there. For once I didn't have ta' fear for my life as a witch. They just let me be. I don't know how or why but I was promoted up the ranks year by year. By my tenth year with 'em I was already the right hand to the boss. He was a brutish hulkin' man with a fondness for cigars and strong stouts. But he was fair and just. Took me under his wing and treated me as if I were his own son."

Levi could see it now. Could remember that cold hateful morning in February when he awoke to the sound of yelling, gunshots, and women screaming. Easily could he recall the smell of gunpowder, the franticness as he ran into Boss O'Hara's room only to find the man dead. The only father he had ever known--the only human to treat him with kindness, respect, and dignity, dead. Slain by an assassin sent from the Italian Black Hand. The rage that had poisoned him and made his blood run cold with wrathful vengeance. The woe of once more being left all alone in a world that sought to destroy him. It had all came crushing down on him, compounding when men and women who had once been soldiers alongside him turned and waited for his orders as second-in-command. 

"After O'Hara's death I was appointed heir. I became the head of the White Hand and all her associates. From the westside of Manhattan to Brooklyn and Queens, all of it was mine; given to me by the old man who had named me as his adoptive son in his will. What was his became mine, the power and the enemies it made."

"Are you still the head of the White Hand?" Eren asked quietly, unsure if he wanted to hear that particular answer.

"The gang was disbanded in the sixties during the civil rights movement. I had been recruited--well, wrangled in by Erwin to work for the FBSP. That's when I met Marco. Kat followed a few decades later as a casualty from the Cold War. She was a spy that'd been caught by the Russians. The celestial tattoo across her chest and back covers up the bullet marks left over from the firing squad."

"Wait, so all of you have died at some point?"

"I thought you already knew that love."

"No, I thought it was just you and Marco that had been resurrected."

"No love, every huntsman has gone through the death process and has come back from it. Some have returned to being mortal because they recreated their original death and lived. But most of us are stuck. It's harder for those of us who are older because the chances of finding the relics that killed us shrink as the years pass." Levi bit his lip the moment the words left his mouth. He knew Eren hated hearing him talk about dying as if it were something he wanted more than living with him as a couple. It wasn't selfish of his young lover to want such a thing. But this was the reality they lived in. "I'm not gonna go lookin' for the revolver Kenny used to shot me love. I promised you last night, it's us until the end."

Eren shook his head as Levi's thumbs wiped away his tears. "Yeah," he sniffled. "I know. It's just hard because I know that you'll want it some day."

"Eventually but that won't be 'til you've already gone ahead of me onto greener pastures. Until that day comes, I'll be right 'ere where I belong." Gaze steady and giving as he watched Eren breath in then out with his green eyes shut, Levi licked his lips and pressed their foreheads together. "Is there anything else you need to know?"

Eren shook his head again. "No," he rasped. "That's it. And Levi..."

"Yea?"

"You aren't a monster. I don't care what you think. You did what you had to. Like I said," the young man reached for his lover, wrapped both arms around his neck as he brought their lips together for a soft delving kiss, "I will always love you."

"And I you my clover."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, this chapter was a lot more dialogue and backstory than I anticipated. The next chapter will be similar but with a bit more action , more Irish-speaking Levi, and carnival themed mystique. Anywho, thank you for reading the latest installment of Nighttime Coming! I will try to start updating this bad boy more often if school permits. Don't forget to leave feedback in the comments below. I love hearing from my readers.
> 
> Stay lovely and stay freaky,
> 
> -Mars, your friendly martian overlord

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings and welcome to my fifth fic, "Nighttime Coming." Now, few of you know this but I was born and raised in North Carolina in a tiny little town called Rich Square that was bordered on all sides by thick forests that always seemed to moan late at night. This fic is the love child from the nights I spent running around the woods wondering what fantastic creatures I would find lurking in the shadows.
> 
> So here, from me to you, is the dark tale of "Nighttime Coming." Remember to always keep a light on and count to three when you hear the floorboards creak.
> 
> -Mars <3


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